


sounds of someday

by sepative



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Supernatural, The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bisexual Dean Winchester, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, No Incest, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Number Five | The Boy Has Issues, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Number Five | The Boy is So Done, Number Five | The Boy-centric, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Diego Hargreeves, Self indulgent crossover, Stressed Number Five | The Boy, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, au thing, but alas, he just gets more family members, i have another fic i need to finish, i have no impulse control, i shouldnt be working on this, there are no ships w/ five
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:53:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27559399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepative/pseuds/sepative
Summary: ‘Wendigo?’‘Way out here?’ Sam didn’t sound perplexed or even like he was mocking Dean, more curious, but there was a hint of skepticism there. Dean clicked his tongue, and sighed, noting to himself that it WAS unlikely. ‘Didn’t we get the tip from another hunter? What did he have to say about it?’ Sam’s silent response was telling enough - Dean took his eyes off the road only briefly, mostly to peer at the immediate disbelief and sourness of Sam’s expression. He raised his brows, trying (and nearly failing) to suppress the amusement that came very close to spreading over his face. ‘That bad?’‘There’s two eye-witness accounts that detail a, and I quote, small boy. Disappearing and reappearing like a demon, there and gone, that killed them.’----------Both the BAU & Sam and Dean catch wind of strange, unexplainable murders. Both of them show up.or : the Winchesters are in town. so is the BAU. so is Five. It goes as well as you'd expect with how much they're bound to clash.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/Emily Prentiss
Comments: 34
Kudos: 149





	1. finding room to breathe

The sky was mostly clear, the remnants of the storm from the night before being nothing but dark grey and spotty clouds that littered the sky. The ground was still wet, but the sun was shining and drying it up relatively well. The wildlife was slowly filtering out of the forest, creeping out of the damp overgrowth and making their way to the backs of local restaurants to get some quick and easy food. It was a relatively peaceful morning, quiet, with the only thing present to disturb the still air being passing cars, and sometimes the sound of sirens in the distance, though that had only happened once. It was a small town, its inhabitants gentle and kind-hearted (allegedly). There wasn’t much fuss.

Until ;

The alarm clock blared, the morning birds chittering alongside it ; a rude awakening for the sleepy, shitty motel and its inhabitants. The walls creaked ominously as though they’d been roused as well, and one of the two in the room stretched out, too-long legs stretching over the side of the bed. There was a grumble of “shut that damn thing up”, to which the former of the two grunted in response. The alarm finally quieted and there was a long sigh that filled the previous silence of the room. It had almost been a picture-perfect morning ; almost. 

But duty called, as it always did, and they couldn’t exactly ignore it like they might want to (or like one of the two might want to, because the taller was already getting out of bed, long hair being brushed back with one hand as he stretched and fumbled with the blanket he’d dragged out of the bed with him. It was thrown back onto the mattress haphazardly as he made his way to the bathroom). Green eyes finally opened, staring blankly at the ceiling - luckily, there was no hangover to fret over this morning, but the alarm made it feel like it - which was, he guessed, as good a wakeup call as any.

He threw his legs over the side of the bed and pulled a carefully folded jacket (he didn’t seem the type, but the jacket was special, so he’d said) over his shoulders to close out the morning cold. It had already begun to settle into his bones, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try his damndest to avoid it. He shuddered, and called out (unnecessarily loud) into the motel, ‘ -ammy, get a move on, we gotta be in Kingston by ten. You’re the one that -’ 

‘- Made you set the damn alarm, I know,’ replied the “ammy” of the two, talking around toothpaste and toothbrush alike. 

If the one that had spoken first had anything to say about that retort, it wasn’t spoken verbally - instead, he cast a glare in the direction of the bathroom, rising off the bed. The taller of the two leaned around the doorframe to look at him, and then he said, ‘You’re sulking, Dean. Mornings aren’t that bad.’

Dean wrinkled up his nose. He’d never been one for them, truthfully - always sour about having to wake up when the sun was still coming up, always sour about having to be up when the birds stirred, or even before that. It made him feel old (was he getting old?), and that wasn’t exactly the greatest feeling. The day he woke up with back pains (that were unrelated to a case) was the day he’d start bitching and complaining everyday (when am I getting seniority benefits? When do I start getting that old people discount I know they get? When do I start getting that old guy pity?), and (Sammy, not “ammy”) was just going to have to deal with it, because it’d be his damn fault. Making him wake up at seven in the morning? It was shit. Complete shit.

But Dean guessed there _were_ worse things in the world, so he really didn’t have all that much to complain about. Did that mean he was going to hold back? No. Did that mean he’d be a little mindful of his bitching? Maybe. The latter of the two options was more likely. Finally, Sam walked out of the bathroom, looking more awake in five minutes than his brother probably could in twenty. 

‘You look like hell.’

‘Feel it too,’ Dean retorted, voice clipped. ‘Let’s get going so I’ll have time to stop for coffee.’ he said, and without waiting for his brother’s reply (whether or not it’d be something to suggest that he should do otherwise didn’t matter ; Dean was getting that damn coffee whether Sam, the fucking health nut, liked it or not), turned toward the door. It came open and the doorknob facing the inside of the room slotted easily into a hole that was already in the wall - Dean didn’t care for its origins, though he’d commented on it when they’d first entered ( something along the lines of : how funny would it be if we did that once before? Pretty damn funny, I think ). It didn’t take long for them to head out afterward, Sam finally having been ushered out of the motel by an impatient Dean. If he wanted to try his lung this morning, he’d have insisted that they play something other than “Black Dog” by Led Zeppelin, but as it was, Sam fancied the distinct lack of a headache this morning, and would prefer to keep it like that till they actually got started on the damn hunt. 

As expected, the radio blared. It was near deafening, sending Sam reeling the instant Dean cranked it up - his brother, nonchalant as ever, clearly wasn’t near as bothered. If anything, he seemed amused, a sleepy grin spread over his features as he put the car into drive and pulled out of the motel parking lot. The drive to Kingston was two hours from where they were currently, and both of them knew that their last case in Tennessee hadn’t exactly gone as smooth as they’d hoped. Who would’ve thought that messing with a nest of vampires - a nest they’d hardly scoped out beforehand - could’ve turned into a disaster? Of course, it’d been Dean’s idea, but neither of them dwelled on it anymore, much less brought it up. 

‘What do we have on this case so far?’ Dean asked as he dialed down the volume of Zeppelin, the music more background noise now. Sam pursed his lips in silent triumph, though he didn’t voice that victory, instead cleared his throat and flipped open the notebook (it’d become useful, and he’d even caught Dean using it once or twice, because it helped them both keep track of information, though Dean’s little notes inside of it were scribbled out phone numbers and sloppily written names that never fell within the lines), thumbing the page he’d slapped a sticky-note on. ‘About a dozen deaths,’ Sam said from the passenger seat, and Dean idly drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for the inevitable continuation. Sam might not have the patience to deal with his bullshit ninety-nine percent of the time, but the guy was a rambling dork at heart, so Dean could always count on being updated no matter how many times he’d asked.

‘At first I thought it wasn’t our type of job,’ Sam explained. ‘But the deaths have happened over the course of twelve total days, and each is increasingly brutal. The bodies have been found mostly near or in the surrounding forest.’

‘Wendigo?’

‘Way out here?’ Sam didn’t sound perplexed or even like he was mocking Dean, more curious, but there was a hint of skepticism there. Dean clicked his tongue, and sighed, noting to himself that it WAS unlikely. ‘Didn’t we get the tip from another hunter? What did he have to say about it?’ Sam’s silent response was telling enough - Dean took his eyes off the road only briefly, mostly to peer at the immediate disbelief and sourness of Sam’s expression. He raised his brows, trying (and nearly failing) to suppress the amusement that came very close to spreading over his face. ‘That bad?’

‘There’s two eye-witness accounts that detail a, and I quote, small boy. Disappearing and reappearing like a demon, there and gone, that killed them.’

‘Got ganked by a demon kid?’ Dean whistled, seeming as though he was actually trying to take it into consideration ( trying to take it seriously ) and then failing miserably. ‘I don’t think we’ve ever seen a demon possess a kid. Not sayin’ they’re against it or have a code that tells them to do otherwise, but still.’ 

‘Well, actually -’

‘Shut it. What else is there?’

‘Other than the eye-witness accounts? Not much. The state of the bodies haven’t been discussed all that much, and the hunter that gave us the tip didn’t look at them,’ Dean flashed a disgusted look - or, maybe not disgusted, but disbelieving. To his credit, he didn’t say anything at first - held in his remark - but eventually, as always, cracked under his own self-pressuring tendencies. ‘Didn’t look?’ Dean echoed, sounding disappointed more than anything. Sam shrugged, ‘Some hunters might not have the stomach for it.’   
If he didn’t look like he was in a state of complete disbelief before, he certainly did now. He gaped like a fish out of water for a moment, and then, ‘Might not have the STOMACH? The hell are they doin’ as a hunter then?’ Dean sound absolutely appalled (or shocked, or both), and pointedly ignored the way Sam grimaced and turned his head to look out the window, watching the trees go by as they neared Kingston. ‘I used to not have the stomach for most things that I do now,’ Sam said. ‘They could be new.’

The silence after that was only slightly heavy - Dean was thinking, and it gave Sam time to consider what they’d be doing once they got there. The idea of what could be killing people in Kingston had differing reports - the hunter suggested and leaned toward the eye-witness account, but Sam was extremely skeptical, and Dean’s immediate response had been enough to tell Sam that it was a “hell no”, an “absolutely not” and “there’s no fucking way”, which meant they’d be starting from scratch. It wasn’t like they hadn’t before, but it did make their job a lot harder than it had to be - and it would only get messier if the feds were already there. Knowing their luck, they would be, and they’d have to slink around - because truly? In their eyes, they had no business being there. “Obstruction of justice”, Sammy had called it once - Dean would just scoff and say they had no idea what they were talking about. Were the feds going to protect the people from vampires? Wendigo? Shapeshifters? Dean didn’t think so.

Regardless, they spent the rest of the drive to Kingston mostly in silence. Got there at nine in the morning, a whole hour before they’d expected, and Dean had immediately pulled into the diner. They could get a motel afterward ; he wanted coffee that didn’t come from the shoddy lobby, and pie that didn’t taste like cardboard. The waitress was a pretty girl, curly hair tied back. The glasses she wore were rectangular in shape, and she had a soft smile drawn over her features - if Dean had anything outlandishly flirtatious to say, it died on his tongue, because she looked way too young, and he simply wasn’t into it. Instead, he smiled and said, ‘Good morning,’ to start off, which was shocking - Sam didn’t know he had manners - and then he gave his order. Sam gave his own (just a plain omelet), and then she was off. 

‘How long do you think we’ll be here?’ his brother asked from across the booth, staring out the window. There were people chatting outside amongst themselves, lit cigarettes fitted between their index and middle fingers. It was a nasty habit - that much both Sam AND Dean could agree on. From the corner of his eye, Dean could see that Sam was working the question out in his head, trying to consider an accurate answer, when he shrugged. ‘Three, maybe four days.’ he guessed, ‘I’m not counting on this being anything serious. An in and out thing?’

Dean wrinkled up his nose in thought - the waitress, Claudette her name was, returned with what they’d ordered. Dean paid her ahead of time, gave a fifteen dollar tip (Sam didn’t ask). Finally, in response to Sam’s suggestion, he shrugged and contemporaneously took a sip of the coffee. It scalded his tongue, but it was a nice way to wake up, so he was hardly bothered - didn’t make a fuss about it. ‘Should be an in and out thing,’ Dean half-affirmed, then went on, ‘But after the shitshow that was our last hunt in this state, I don’t think we’re in any position to be jinxing things like that.’

If Sam was any less accustomed to the nature of their job, his face might have whitened at the implication. Maybe they’d underestimated the number of Vampires that were in that nest, and maybe it’d nearly gotten them killed ; there was really nothing that could be done about that now. They’d been reckless, they’d learned. Even with so many years of hunting experience under their belts, they made mistakes. Shit happened, right?

Dean didn’t like mistakes, so it was Sam’s joke to make sure that they acknowledged what and what not to do next time they came across a similar issue. Dean must have been in a good mood or something, though, because he cleared his throat and peered at Sam, swallowing down a mouthful of pie. ‘So,’ he began, ‘let’s say we entertain the idea of this “demon kid”. What do we do with that? There’s tons of kids in Kingston.’

Had he known his brother any less, Sam might have been puzzled that he wanted to discuss this in the middle of a diner at nine fifteen in the morning. He suppressed the feeling in favor of actually keeping up with the conversation (and the implication there), ‘It’ll probably be a little easier to find a demon kid than we’re thinking,’ he stated. Dean didn’t seem convinced, though, but instead of replying, he simply took another bite of the pie. Afterward, though, he seemed like his spirits had brightened just slightly once more, and he sighed. ‘Okay. Let’s say we entertain an easily found demon kid. What then? Don’t think we can gank it if it’s still possessing the kid. I don’t want that on my conscience.’

Sam winced. Admittedly, he hadn’t thought that far ahead. Still, he offered a shrug : ‘We’ll get ahold of it and exorcise it,’ he stated. ‘It won’t kill it, but it’ll mean we can have an actual chance of getting to kill it next time.’ Dean considered the idea, and it was apparently good enough for him, because he didn’t argue against it, simply pushed his now-empty plate to the edge of the table, hands clasped together beneath the table. The coffee had done him some good, and though his eyes still felt unbelievably heavy with sleep, he was waking up more and more as time passed. It worked out. 

‘Are we seriously thinking that -’

‘No, Sam, god, no. I might be dense, but I’m not that dense.’ he said, and if Sam’s immediate change in expression bothered him, he didn’t say anything about it. It was a little funny, Dean could admit, but he was mostly adamant in making sure Sam knew that Dean wasn’t fully insinuating that there was, in fact, a demon child running around and murdering people in the dozens. Or. . Was it “in the dozens” if it was only the most recent body that made it a dozen? He didn’t know. Frankly, he didn’t care, either. It was still a dozen. ‘We should get going,’ the older of the two stated matter-of-factly. They departed with a quick “goodbye” to Claudette, who waved politely at them from where she stood at the curve of the counter. They’d probably be seeing her again tomorrow morning, so it was the best decision to make nice with her (and the other waitresses that worked at the diner) rather than anything else.

‘Now, we have a family - families - to talk to. Park Rangers or Feds?’ 

Sam did a quick survey of the area as though it would help his decision ( Dean didn’t think so, but a quick look-around told him that maybe posing as a Fed wasn’t the best course of action ; from the looks of it, it seemed that the Feds had, in fact, already rolled into town ). Without missing a beat after his quick survey of the area, Sam replied, ‘Park Rangers. It’ll be easier that way, and the credentials are easier to get away with. Remember that time in -’

‘ - Spokane? Yeah, I do,’ Dean tutted ; as much of a success that had been, it’d still been a tedious case that they’d spent a week and a half on. Far too much time to be spending on something so simple, he thought, even if it hadn’t been simple at all. 

‘They didn’t rule out bears, right? Could’ve been bears.’

‘I don’t think it could’ve been bears, Dean.’ Sam replied smoothly, though the slight inflection in his voice definitely betrayed the minor, formerly hidden irritation he’d found himself accompanied by. 

‘A grieving family won’t think that way. We’ll go with bears. Or, even worse, an unidentified wild animal. We can’t really offer them closure until - well. You know. There’s something to offer.’

Sam made a face, but said nothing to combat the words - distasteful as it was, lying was certainly their go-to, and taking advantage of grief was nothing they were strangers to. Sam had learned long ago that most people didn’t want to open up unless their information was new to whoever they were sharing it with, and the potential for closure would definitely inspire a slip of the tongue or two. It was just a shame they wouldn’t be offering any actual closure. He slid into the Impala for the second time that morning, they booked a motel, and then, while trying to settle in before heading back out, Dean finally asked, ‘What’re the names anyway? Most recent.’

‘Jeffery Williams, Hannah James and Thomas Jacobs.’ 

There was a long pause as Dean considered the names, and then he stopped altogether, his brows knit together in a frown. ‘Thomas Jacobs?’ he echoed in thought, arms crossed. The name was familiar, but it didn’t ring any good bells in Dean’s head. ‘That one hunter dad always told us to stay away from?’ the question seemed to have the gears in Sam’s head turning, and then he nodded, recognition on his face shortly thereafter. ‘Real unstable guy,’ his younger brother affirmed. ‘Now that you mention it, I’m really not surprised he’s lumped into the victim pool.’ The statement was a grim one - and now that they thought about it, Hannah James and Jeffery Williams had been well acquainted with Thomas. There were a lot of things clicking into place - they were a small group of hunters that travelled with one another across the states. There were normally nine of them, though, and Dean wasn’t exactly sure if he wanted to know if the rest were just unidentified bodies or a soon-to-be-discovered thirteenth and so on.

‘Can’t say they didn’t get what was coming to them,’ Dean said matter-of-factly. ‘Heard Jeffery and Thomas were real pieces of work, and Hannah was just as bad, if not worse.’

Sam’s face soured at the implication, because he’d heard the rumors. He didn’t reply, though, because they both knew his stance on it - he’d very nearly had an altercation with Thomas once upon a time. It took a lot to get Sam to that point (or Dean thought so anyway, but maybe that was just because his own fuse was considerably shorter than Sam’s, so it was always a shock to see his brother get all pissed off like that). 

‘Guess that’s three checked off the list for “families we don’t have to visit”.’ Dean added, a much lighter statement in comparison to the former. Sam huffed something close to a laugh as they headed out finally. The older of the two brothers could feel the tension in the air, and he knew damn well that they didn’t need to be dwelling on that. As such, he took the chance to get the fuck out of the motel the instant it presented itself - and off they went to talk to the first family on the list. With Hannah, Thomas and Jeffery all bumped out of their list of concerns, their next was one sir Gabriel Joseph, a man who died as he lived ; with his teeth bared and blood under his fingernails. Turned out the guy had a pretty bloody history (quite literally), in that they’d finally pinned him for three murders across Arkansas and Louisiana. Sucks that those families only got peace after he died, and because of unrelated circumstances, but it was nice to know they got some kind of closure anyway.

So, it went without saying that neither of them really had pity for the guy. There was a difference between people killing people and people killing monsters - there was no power imbalance in average people killing other average people. People killing monsters, though? That was understandable. That helped others more than it harmed them. It didn’t make people white in the face with fear. The monsters did that on their own - the fucking bastards.

Dean quickly derailed that thought process, though, because they’d arrived at the house they needed to be at sooner than expected - standing on the doorstep, Dean extended an arm to knock, but Sam quickly caught him by the wrist. He glared at his brother as though to ask what his problem was, but when his attention was directed toward the door itself, Dean just as quickly noted that it was already open, if only slightly ; cracked. That was never a good sign.

Nonetheless, they stepped inside. The place was a wreck ; glass was shattered to their immediate right, a trail of blood leading from the front door to the kitchen, as though whoever had been home had been attacked the instant they opened the door. It was brutal, and there had been a definite struggle, but not enough of one, it seemed. The dead body behind the kitchen counter told him that much - he didn’t bother checking for a pulse, though, because the neck was twisted at such an angle that told him it had definitely been broken. 

‘There’s four,’ Sam noted as he turned the body over with the top of his shoe ; it was, in fact, the fourth of the hunting group Thomas had established. This one’s name was. . Dean searched the face for a moment, trying to place a name, and then it clicked. He snapped his fingers for emphasis, ‘That’s Brandon. Uh. . Brandon James. One of Hannah’s brothers.’

‘Wonder where the other two are, huh?’

‘Probably not far behind. Much as I hate them, maybe we should warn them?’

Dean casted Sam a look of iron, his lips pursed and his jaw set in a way that said “no”, but Sam knew that his brother was tempted nonetheless. They were heroes - or they tried to be, anyway, and letting people die wouldn’t be very heroic. Though, he did have to wonder if they truly counted as people - it didn’t seem like it sometimes. They could be every bit like the very monsters they hunted. It made Dean sick to imagine protecting people like that - their whole group deserved much worse than what they got, because it looked like this was a relatively quick death (if he was to ignore the four stab wounds, which he did), and it was a whole lot less than the karma Brandon was owed.

‘We should head out before the Feds catch wind that Brandon was in town, too,’ Dean said. Sam paused for a moment, and then pointed out, ‘What was Brandon doing in this house? This is supposed to be Gabriel Joseph’s, er. . significant other’s?. . house.’

Points for the inclusivity, Dean thought, but nodded as he tried to think. ‘Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. We need to find. . what was their name?’

‘Robert, I think.’

‘Need to find Robert Joseph, then. I don’t think we exactly have time to waste, so. . let’s get a move on, yeah?’ 

‘Right behind you, jerk.’

‘Alright, bitch.’


	2. you can laugh a spineless laugh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning : non consensual drug use. nothing happens, but it's still there. please take care of yourself and know your limits!

Okay. The case was confusing, for sure, but Sam (and Dean by extension) had yet to give up hope. They’d gotten to Kingston on Monday at nine am. It was now Thursday at seven pm. Both brothers were sat at the table, Sam in front of a laptop and Dean in front of a pile of papers ; an accurate reflection of their priorities, really. Still, it changed nothing about the fact that they had, quite literally, gotten nowhere at all with the case. Three more bodies had shown up - one on Tuesday, none on Wednesday, and then two were found this morning. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, and then let out a low groan, his head leaned back as he stared up at the ceiling, pensive.

‘What’s on your mind?’ Sam asked, even knowing what the answer would be.

‘The Feds,’ Dean said. ‘Tampering with things they really don’t need to be tampering with. We still don’t know what’s killing these people, but it sure as hell ain’t anything normal.’ 

‘And what are we supposed to do about that?’

The silence in response to Sam’s rhetorical question was plenty telling ; Dean didn’t KNOW, and that bothered him more than anything else. It was. . going to be a long few days.

* * *

And it wasn’t like it was going any better for the BAU. Spencer Reid sat cross-legged in the swivel chair, one hand pressed to his head, elbow pressed into his knee, the other flipping through some of the files he’d been handed. There were tons - not too many for his personal preference, but tons nonetheless. Morgan had resigned to his fate, his lips parted in silent dismay as he went through the eighth file delivered in an hour. Spencer, feeling generous, had taken six from him - had told him that “it was fine, he’d get through them faster anyway”, because it was the truth, and he could see Derek getting frustrated with the sheer amount of information there was to take in. To make it doubly frustrating, it was going nowhere. Not a single file they’d sifted through contained a probable suspect (or victim, because each missing person's report was either already resolved as dead or found alive and well, so there was no point in scouting the forestry for a potential, hidden dumpsite). Across from him, Morgan’s shoulders slumped and he rocked back in his chair with a heavy breath. He looked thoroughly exhausted, a proper frown written across his face, brows furrowed. Spencer raised his eyes to inspect him, watching the microexpressions carefully. The man was working his jaw as though to say something, and then, finally,

‘This feels so useless.’ he said, unable to contain the immense amount of. . defeat. They’d had rough cases before, ones that went nowhere for weeks, but this one in particular? It was difficult. People were being killed right under their noses. Reid considered what he could say that would be of any particular comfort to Morgan, but nothing came to mind, so he was instead left with scrunching up his nose, his shoulders raising and then rolling as he went on to stretch out. They’d been at it for roughly four hours by this point ; Prentiss and JJ came and went. Hotch was still out and about, though there sporadically, and they hadn’t seen Rossi since that morning. It was like they’d effectively been grounded to “research”. Morgan hated it - Reid, not so much.

‘Pretty boy,’ Derek said from where he sat, leaning forward in his own seat, the file in his hand flipped shut. ‘What’s goin on in that head of yours? Surely you’ve got something.’

Spencer met Morgan’s eye only briefly, and then just as quickly flicked his gaze away. It was his turn to frown, then, because he. . didn’t have any ideas. His mind, for once, was startlingly blank. Maybe it scared him a little, maybe it didn’t - and maybe it didn’t matter. He needed to focus on what they did know ; that there were fifteen bodies and not a single suspect. The only thing they could possibly profile in this was the history of those killed, and in all of them, it was certainly colorful. The most they got from it, though, was the MO of a vigilante. Instead of wilting like he was certainly tempted to, Reid cleared his throat. ‘The final blow is always quick and efficient,’ he offered. ‘There’s obvious torture, but the final blow has always been the broken neck. It’s fluid and there’s no hesitation - their killer was. . confident.’ 

Derek still looked stumped, though slightly less so. ‘So. . someone experienced,’ he decided. ‘Methodical. Maybe ex-military?’

Spencer looked as though in deep thought when presented with that option, and then he nodded, almost tentative. ‘Yeah. If not that, then something close,’ he said. ‘Special training of SOME sort. None of the wounds have hesitation marks, though some did seem as though the weapon got caught.’

‘Maybe an issue with upper body strength?’ Derek supplied, and Reid hummed as though to agree. The other agent looked to be in better spirits now - they were getting somewhere with their leads. These things should’ve been the very first things to occur to them, but with how busy they’d been with new bodies almost everyday, it was a bit hard to sit down and profile what was going on with them. Still, now that they’d gotten the opportunity, Derek couldn’t say he wasn’t relieved.

‘Thanks, pretty boy.’

Spencer said nothing, but he was smiling - and as if right on time, Emily walked through the door. She held a tray of coffee and sandwiches ; sat down at the end of the table with her own. ‘Dinner is served,’ she stated aloud, sounding as exhausted as they looked. ‘We’ll be here for thirty more minutes before we head back to the motel. Hotch will have our heads otherwise.’

‘That where he’s been?’

‘No,’ she said after a much-needed sip of coffee. ‘But he’s heading there now. We’re all expected back within the hour. We can all ride back together - JJ will be in soon.’ Prentiss finished, waving a hand dismissively. Reid noted the grin on Morgan’s face, the shit-eating and knowing one, and he looked at Emily inquisitively. He saw nothing wrong - maybe her face was a bit flushed, but it WAS cold outside. He didn’t exactly know what Morgan was grinning at, but he knew it was something ; he didn’t just flash that look for shits and giggles. His brow furrowed as he looked between the two, when finally, the other agent broke the silence.

‘JJ will be in soon, huh?’

If the flush on Emily’s face wasn’t noticeable before, then it sure as hell was now. She glared at Morgan, her expression next to nonchalant, lips pressed into a thin line. He grinned, and luckily for her, changed the subject shortly after. ‘We think this unsub is ex-military,’ he stated evenly, giving the other agent a moment to ease up. She had flushed such a bright red that it was a wonder she didn’t explode, the tips of her ears having gone a mild shade of pink. Reid found it fascinating, and Derek was struggling to contain his laughter even as he went over their case. ‘There’s no hesitation marks. Reid says that there were signs of a struggle with the weapon on the skin, so we think there might be an issue with upper body strength.’ Emily seemed immersed in the case rather suddenly, listening attentively, and she nodded once Derek finished speaking. ‘Since you say ex-military, maybe an injury? It could be the reason for weaker upper body strength,’ she replied, her statement punctuated by JJ’s entrance. The embarrassment was ephemeral, because like always, there were more important things to attend to - the teasing could wait till they were back at the motel. ‘Maybe we can -’

‘Call up Garcia?’ Morgan finished with a light upturn of the lips as he grabbed for his phone, pressing one button, and then another, and then putting it on speaker. It rang once, twice, and then Penelope picked up.

‘Oracle of Quantico. Speak if you deign to hear truth,’ she said in a sing-song voice, practically lighting up the room without physically being there. They were each put at ease, if only slightly and temporarily, at the sound of her voice. Morgan cleared his throat. ‘Hey, babygirl. Need you to run something for me.’

‘And that would be?’

‘Check for ex military with injuries sustained to the upper body. Late twenties, early thirties.’ 

‘That seems a little too easy. Is there a catch? Have you found anything else?’ Garcia sounded hopeful, like she wanted him to tell her that he was just messing around, that he had some extravagant and full-fledged lead, but he didn’t. Derek sighed, and shook his head even if she couldn’t see it. ‘No. Sorry, baby-girl, nothing else yet. I’ll let you know as soon as we do though, okay? We’re about to turn in for the night. I’ll talk to you some tomorrow, girl. Take care of yourself tonight.’

He could feel the hesitance on her part, and he felt guilty - wished he had more to offer her, he truly did. But as of right now, there really was. . nothing. They had no prints, and the crime scenes had been so clean (shockingly ; considering the mess that had been left behind, it was a miracle that there hadn’t been a single print, blood spatter or trace of the unsub at all) that it almost felt like they’d been bleached. They might have assumed that was the case if they didn’t know any better - but they did know better. There was no way that crime scene could have been thoroughly washed down without getting rid of the horrendous amount of blood and gore that was still scattered around it. ‘I don’t think it was planned entirely,’ Spencer said. ‘They were targeted, but the act itself wasn’t planned. It’s chaotic, and there’s no ritual. The only consistency is the fact that something sharp - probably a knife or axe, or both - was used in every scenario.’ 

Morgan looked vaguely disgruntled, but still didn’t make any offhanded comments about it. ‘At least we have preferred weaponry noted,’ he said, trying to, for once, be optimistic. Prentiss smiled a bit in something like agreement, but he noted how tense it was ; they were still next to nowhere with this case. Still, they loaded up all the files, put them away and then headed to the motel. JJ and Prentiss shared a room, Hotch got one to himself and Rossi got one to himself, and then Morgan and Reid shared one. It was efficient. Warm, too, but neither of the ones sharing their rooms would admit to that. 

Morgan was up into the later hours of the night, arms folded behind his head and eyes trained on the ceiling. Reid was awake, too - he could hear the occasional flipping of pages, and there was the soft glow of the lamp that was still on, too. Mindlessly, Derek cleared his throat, ‘Pretty boy?’

The page flipping stopped.

‘You didn’t wake me up, don’t worry,’ Morgan rushed to assure him, then went on. ‘I was just going to ask if you think there’s anything going on. We normally find something by now, but there’s. . nothing. I know it probably worries you.’

There was a long break of quiet before Reid replied, first sighing before he went on to speak. ‘It. . does worry me that we haven’t found anything so far.’ he admitted, voice kept soft ; Reid was always quiescent ; gentle. He hardly ever raised his voice, and when he did, it always sounded painful - like he was straining. ‘But I have a little bit of a good feeling. I promise I do.’ 

It was good enough for Morgan. He let out a soft hum - something that sounded like approval - and turned over on his side. He could hear the lamp click out. 

‘Good-night, pretty boy.’

‘Night.’

* * *

The Winchesters weren’t so lucky with sleep. After pursuing dead-end leads all night, Dean was frustrated and had taken off to take a breather. A bar was in his best interest - get a drink, or two, or three, and then head out, go back to the motel. It was ideal, maybe. Sam wouldn’t be too happy, and neither would he in the morning, but fuck, it was difficult to stay in his right mind when his head hurt and there was nothing to possibly tell them what was killing these people. Granted, they were horrible, disgusting and vile human beings, but that still meant that the inhabitants of Kingston as a whole were at risk. Dean was tempted to say it wasn’t their gig, that it was just a creepy serial killer guy - human, so not their job - but with the insistence from the locals that there was a “killer demon child”, they had to dig around a little more.

Dean just didn’t like chasing things if he didn’t know they were real. Sam didn’t want to say it was a goose chase, though it was, so Dean was . . forced to go along for the ride, because his brother was nothing if not stubborn as all FUCK. So, naturally, at two in the morning and when the cold had long settled, he found himself in a bar. It wasn’t as packed as he could imagine, and he found his way to the counter with ease, taking a seat just in front of it. Got some whisky, and then took a quick gander around.

Dean blanched when he noticed him - he was just a kid, sitting down at the other end of the bar. It wasn’t that it shocked him so badly to his core that he couldn’t properly react, but Dean did feel that some amount of shock was justified when he was seeing a literal child downing what looked like alcohol. In a place like this? He did another quick survey of the area, and then got up from his seat, making his way to sit by the boy, brows furrowed. The kid had picked up on his presence long before he’d even sat down, narrowed green eyes cast in Dean’s direction as though to ask something. He said nothing, though, so Dean decided he would bite the bullet. ‘Your parents work here or something?’ Dean tried, watching as the kid took another swig of whatever was in his cup. He didn’t even flinch as it went down. Dean suppressed the urge to ask what was in the cup (for now). 

‘I don’t think that’s any of your business,’ the boy replied easily, lips pursed as he drummed his fingers on the countertop. He looked like he was waiting for something ; impatient, looking around every so often. It felt familiar, but given that this was a child (he’d been younger when dad had made HIM start hunting. Him and Sammy both had been younger, he could nearly guarantee), it was a bit hard to believe that something like that was anything but natural. He was a young kid in a bar - he had reason to seem paranoid. Plus, he was rather defensive of the cup he held ; both hands were wrapped around itt when he wasn’t using it, pulled close up to him, and he never let his eyes leave it for longer than a second. 

‘Touche,’ Dean said finally, breaking the silence that had settled. It was awkward. This was awkward. He shouldn’t be talking to a random kid in a bar. How bad did this look? Jesus christ. Maybe he should let Sam handle this type of shit. He’d just wanted to give it a try, but it was already going to hell. ‘How old are you?’

‘That’s also none of your business,’ the boy said, voice clipped, and briefly met Dean’s eye. He certainly didn’t look happy, and Dean couldn’t exactly blame him - what kid WOULD be happy if some random, adult man came up to them in a bar? Then again. . Why was a kid in a bar? Who let him in? Deciding to ask a question that he might actually get an answer to, Dean tried, ‘What are you drinking?’

The boy actually looked at his cup again, looked conflicted for a second, two, and then three, and then he answered, ‘Inexpensive vodka. Skyy brand. I’m sure you know it.’

Dean DID laugh that time. He raised his brows in disbelief, grin splitting his otherwise perplexed expression. ‘Inexpensive vodka,’ Dean repeated. ‘Alright, I’ll bite.’ he stated, the sarcasm dripping from his voice. ‘Can I try this inexpensive vodka you’ve got hold of somehow?’

The boy regarded him for a moment, and then looked to the cup, and shrugged. He said, ‘You can have the rest of it. I need a refill anyway,’ and passed the cup over to Dean. The hunter, not expecting it to be anything other than apple juice, went right in and took a swig without even sipping it first. He was (un?)pleasantly surprised when he did, in fact, taste vodka ; and maybe he’d imagined it, but the shocked look on his face seemed to have elicited something close to a light smirk from the boy. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘ _ Oh _ . You. . weren’t lying. Okay. Jesus, kid.’ he set the cup back down, and looked as though he wanted to say something, but was stopped when the kid waved the bartender over. He said something to them, slid a ten (or a twenty? Dean couldn’t tell from where he sat), and then was given a glass of the same drink shortly thereafter. He didn’t know how the boy had convinced the other dude - Larry, his name tag read - to actually give him the damn drinks, but it apparently worked like a charm.

‘You drink a lot then?’

‘Moderately,’ the kid replied, and Dean felt like he was having a stroke. The boy looked and sounded like he was no older than ten - just a little guy - and yeah, he definitely should have brought Sammy along with him. He was always better with kids, especially rebellious kids.

Or not. Maybe Dean was just hoping to god that Sam would have been better, because holy SHIT, this was horrendous to deal with. On a whim, and mostly on impulse, Dean asked, ‘What’s your name?’

The look the kid shot him was almost funny ; almost. It was like a glare, like he was trying to be scary, but didn’t quite hit the mark. A little unnerving, maybe, but not scary. Dean had seen far scarier things (he’d literally seen the devil, had spent forty years in hell - a kid, a little boy? That wasn’t going to scare him). Still, he could admit when something was unnerving, and that certainly made up for everything else. ‘None of my business, right?’

‘Yup,’ the kid said, popping the “p” obnoxiously. Dean sucked his teeth, took a deep breath, and then smiled again. It was tense, and maybe he was a little frustrated (why was he frustrated with a literal child? He just didn’t like the attitude. He’d had the same one when he was younger. He didn’t like it). There was something wrong, though - Dean realized it after maybe five minutes ; he could see it in the way the boy’s shoulders sagged, his brows furrowed and his gaze far-away. The bartender had taken note far before that, and Dean felt his stomach flip. Not in a nauseated way, but something more along the lines of anger. Had that been intentional? Is THAT what had happened? Dean locked his jaw and looked toward the boy, and said, ‘Here,’ he stood. Larry watched him, brows raised. ‘Let’s get you back to your mom. She’ll chew me out if she finds out you got all wasted in here,’ he laughed - Dean might not know the kid, and he might not know what he’s doing, but he’s not that bad of an actor (or so he likes to believe). He slapped a twenty and a ten down on the bar, met Larry’s eye as he moved carefully. ‘Keep the change. Little dude here has had too much to drink, and his mom will have a fit if she finds out.’ he lied easily, doing his best to support the boy as he struggled with his balance for a moment. 

With that, they were gone. Out of the warm bar and into the cool night air. ‘M fine,’ grunted the kid from where he was practically slumped against Dean’s side, his legs barely cooperating as they walked. ‘Uh. . Yeah. I think you WILL be with some sleep. I don’t know what was in your drink, but that. .’

Could have been horrible. Dean knew the implications. He didn’t think about it, though, because that was horrible. Horrible in general, but even worse to imagine it having to do with a kid. It made his stomach turn, a mixture of anger and nausea that time. ‘My brother will know what to do. He’s real smart, uh. . better at dealing with this stuff than I am. Shit. Sorry, kid. Should’ve known that a motherfucker named Larry would be creepy enough to serve a kid a spiked drink. Sick son of a bitch.’

The kid grumbled something incoherent, and then took a deep breath. Dean went to steady him, one hand coming down firm on a shoulder, and then. . he was gone. Dean blinked as though to make sure he was seeing correctly ; all he’d seen was a brief flash of blue and then the boy was gone, no longer leaned up against him, and oh, that was bad. He thought he’d fallen at first, but no. Luckily, he hadn’t gotten very far ; just a few feet ahead, but a whole bunch of things were suddenly clicking, and Dean didn’t think he liked it. He chewed his lip, and carefully walked over - the boy was dead weight all of a sudden, likely having tired himself out doing whatever the fuck that had been. He gathered him up off the concrete, walked the rest of the way to the motel, and knocked.

Sam opened, looked very close to snapping, and then went white in the face as he took one look at his brother. There was a very heavy, horrified pause.

‘Dean.’

‘I know.’

He quickly moved into the motel, avoiding Sam as best as possible. He pulled a chair out from the table, set the boy down in it. 

‘That’s - You -’

‘Sam.’

He looked around for what he could use to draw with. When he found nothing, he resorted to twine. This was most definitely the demon kid they’d been hearing about. Not a fucking joke. Not a delusion. 

‘ -A kid -’

‘Demon kid,’ Dean corrected as he tightened the binding. The boy was secured in the chair, a sheen of sweat collected at his temple, brows furrowed as though he were in pain, and his lips parted just slightly as though he’s passed out as he’d gone to say something. Sam blanched at the correction, mouth opening and closing wordlessly. He didn’t look like he knew how he was supposed to feel about this. 

‘And you’re sure he’s not just -’

‘Sam, he was in a bar, drinking like his life depended on it. I got him out cause the bartender. . well. I got him out, and he teleported out of my arms. I saw it.’ 

He looked a little less upset about it, but still was unsettled. ‘What are -- what are we supposed to DO about this?’

Dean took a deep breath and straightened up. ‘We’ll just. . have to wait until he wakes up.’

‘And that’ll take how long?’

‘I don’t know. It depends on what he was given. I didn’t exactly get the chance to check, but I figured you might be able to.’

Sam seemed. . conflicted. They’d exorcised the demons out of adults before, grown men and women, but he didn’t think they’d ever exorcised one out of a kid. On impulse more than anything else, Sam snatched one of the blankets off his own bed, and carefully pulled it around the boy’s shoulders. Dean gave him a look, but he said, ‘I don’t care if he’s possessed. Kids still get cold, Dean.’

‘So do adults.’

‘It’s not the same.’

There was another long pause - there were a lot of those lately - before Dean sighed and nodded in silent agreement. He set on the edge of his bed, directly across from the unconscious kid, and clasped his hands together. ‘It might be a long night,’ Dean said. ‘Wanna go run and get some coffee?’

Sam spared him one look, and then looked to the kid, and then nodded. ‘Be back in twenty.’

‘Make it ten.’ 

‘Whatever.’

* * *

It wasn’t until early morning, around **eight am** , that the BAU had received word from Garcia. She told them she’d sorted through hundreds and hundreds of names throughout the night, but that none had rang any bells for the case. It’d, initially, been disappointing news - until she brought up one name. It had sent Spencer reeling, because that name belonged to a man that had allegedly died - numerous times, it seemed - and definitely should NOT have been an active name like Garcia had listed it as.

‘Could you repeat that third to last name?’

‘Johnson McKiney?’

‘No, the one before that.’

‘Sam Winchester?’ she asked, and Reid sighed. 

‘Yeah, that’s. . that’s the one. Uh. Garcia, you remember the Winchester brothers?’ he asked, and when she went silent, he took that as confirmation that she did, in fact, remember. ‘Why is his name on this list, Garcia?’

‘Because, erm. It’s. . It’s more town gossip than anything, but someone said they saw someone - saw HIM. His, uh. Brother, too. They’re in town. I don’t know for how long, I just know what people have been saying in private. That’s it.’ 

While Spencer considered what he could say, Hotch spoke, ‘Could you pull up a -’

‘List of motels in the area with names that fit their false identities in the past? Already done. They’re staying at Lakeview Inn. I don’t know which room, though, you’ll have to -’

‘Thank you, Garcia,’ Hotch said abruptly. ‘We’ll keep you updated.’

Morgan, Prentiss and JJ had already set out. Rossi didn’t look as shocked as Reid did, but was still vaguely perplexed by the fact that Sam and Dean Winchester were both alive. At any rate, they looked at one another in silent agreement : they’d talk about it in the car if necessary.

* * *

It wasn’t until eight am - six hours later - that the boy stirred. He still looked unconscious, still as ever, the only sign he was even alive being the unsteady rise and fall of his chest. Dean saw the singular twitch, though - the twitch of a hand, and he paused as he noted that the kid was actually awake. He cleared his throat, kept staring even as the boy pretended he was still unconscious. ‘We know you’re up,’ he said, sounding irritated. When the kid still didn’t budge, Dean took a deep breath and moved - and, without warning, the small ice-bucket (it was full of water instead of ice, unfortunately for him) was thrusted forward. Freezing cold water hit him suddenly and he jolted, but his eyes remained closed, brows now furrowed. It was only after the initial shock had worn off that he finally dragged his eyes open.

But he didn’t look. . afraid, per se. Pissed off for sure, but not afraid. Dean found that unnerving, like the look he’d flashed before. There were no words, though, no evil, conniving grin - just the fury of a kid that seems older than his years - that’d just been rudely awoken by having freezing cold water thrown at him. When the kid still refused to speak, Dean sighed.

‘We know that you - whoever is possessing this boy - are in there. And we want you out. If you don’t leave on your own, we’ll have to force you out.’

The boy blinked his eyes once, twice, and then three times, looking puzzled. It was only then that he spoke, voice hoarse like it hadn’t been used in years, ‘What?’ and then, after he looked around the motel room and let his eyes adjust, he took a shuddering breath. ‘What the fffuck are you talking about?’

‘The demon.’

He looked like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, brows raised and eyes squinted just slightly as though it’d help him understand better. When it didn’t, he frowned again, and said, ‘There’s no demon in me. You’re fucking -’ he paused. Dean had thrown holy water at him, and he looked like he was just trying to process it, still starstruck by all that was going on. He was shivering, his wrists were rubbed raw by the twine rope, and all in all? Not a great start to the morning. His hair stuck to his forehead, and he didn’t even flinch as more holy water was splashed on him, and then more, and then - then they tried salt, and everything else, but there was no stinging, no screaming, nothing - just. . a boy. Just a normal boy. And there was the recognition, the dawning horror. 

‘. . Dean.’

‘Oh my god.’

‘Dean, you -’

Dean rushed forward, frantically reaching behind the chair to unbind the twine. Impatient, he settled for cutting through it all with one of the knives he had pocketed, and maybe that was a mistake. Immediately, a fist came rushing toward his face. His nose ached a lot more than he thought it would have. The boy maneuvered with an odd gracefulness for someone who was covered in freezing cold water, moving the blanket he’d been given and quickly moving so he had it pulled tight around Dean’s neck. It wasn’t suffocating him just yet, but the threat was there, his airflow hindered just slightly. He was pulled back into an awkward position, unable to truly reach the kid even if he wanted to. ‘Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you both,’ he grit out, teeth bared like a wild animal. Sam believed it. He really did.

‘We thought you were something else,’ Sam said. If he was trying to hide the light edge of panic from his voice, he was doing a shit job at it. ‘We didn’t know you weren’t. . it. Truly. We didn’t mean to hurt - ah. Startle you.’

The boy stared, his gaze hard and his intentions painfully clear. He pulled tight at the blanket for a moment and Dean choked - and then all of a sudden the pressure was gone. The boy moved away and the formerly in-a-chokehold-of-sorts hunter gasped, leaning forward and sputtering. He glanced over his shoulder, noting that the kid looked like his legs had turned to jello, leaned against the nearby dresser as he tried to catch his breath. Sam was just relieved that nothing had happened.

There was a beat of wings, unseen feathers scattering over the floor, as the familiar angel arrived. He had gone to open his mouth to speak about the scene when several loud bangs on the door followed up his movement to - and rather than commit to what he was tempted to say, he sighed.

‘Bout time you showed up, Cas,’ Dean rasped as he got to his feet. The door caved in just as everyone in the room (including the mystery boy) disappeared, leaving nothing but the broken chair, the soaking wet floor and blanket, and a mess of decor strewn about. 

The BAU had been a mere second too late.

Now in the Impala (and driving away for that matter), Dean’s gaze kept flicking toward the backseat where Castiel was seated with the boy. They were all silent for a while, until he decided that he’d go ahead and break the ice.

‘So, do your parents -’

‘Don’t have parents,’ the kid said flatly, and he looked as though he’d rather be anywhere but here. He appeared tired, though, and like he still hadn’t quite slept off whatever was in his system. 

‘Family?’ Sam asked that time

‘Not looking for me.’

Dean’s heart sank, and from the look on his brother’s face, he could tell that his probably did too. Without looking this time, he asked, ‘Are you cold?’

There was a pause. The boy’s eyes flicked up to meet Dean’s in the rearview mirror, and though he said nothing, the point was taken. Sam shrugged his jacket off and reached over the backseat. The boy stared at it skeptically, and then he took it, pulling it around his shoulders. The uniform he wore wasn’t exactly dripping wet anymore, but it was still cold. The Impala’s heater did help quite a bit, though. 

‘Do you mind if I ask you your name?’ Sam asked that time, looking back at him. Their gaze met briefly, the boy looking more disgruntled and inconvenienced than scared or traumatized by the fact that he’d just been kidnapped by people he might as well assume are delusional.

‘Five. You can call me Five.’


	3. feel it bubbling from below

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo! sorry such a delayed chapter. i procrastinated for like, 10 days. sorry sorry!  
> anyway. just a few things to address about this chapter ( and things to address in general )
> 
> First and foremost : In this chapter, there's going to be discussion of implied / referenced r*pe / non con. It's not spoken of in an explicit manner, but it's implied slightly ( & a bit more concretely in a conversation / argument w/ dean & five ) throughout the second half. Please know your limits and take care of yourself. also, a note : it's not explicit gore or anything gross, but there is a slightly detailed description of a shoulder being popped back into place near the bottom. i dont know if that needs a warning, but im putting it in just in case.
> 
> Second : this chapter is a little messy, but I took very spread out breaks for it. that's my only reasoning. im just a messy bitch by default
> 
> Third : ive got a few personal headcanons for five. if you'd like to see them, i could link the doc biography i've done for him! it's got most of the headcanons i have. i add to it occasionally.
> 
> Fourth : like i said before, please take care of yourself and be mindful of your triggers. the aforementioned themes are incorporated only because i needed a place to vent and self project. I sincerely apologize if this makes you uncomfortable, and if it does, please do not read this chapter. 
> 
> Fifth : if you ever want to get in contact with me, whether it be about the fic or just in general, my discord is knife gun#1334

Spencer’s positive that they’d have caught them - should have caught them. The room looked disturbed, like there had been a struggle - there was an overturned chair and discarded rope, the carpet was marked with a sizable water stain, and sheets as well as blankets were strewn about. They found no evidence that they’d exited through an alternative door or route otherwise ; it was as though they’d been there one moment and gone the next. It was incredibly particular timing, and he couldn’t wrap his head around it - Morgan seemed to be having just as shit luck with it. This whole case was agitating, confusing, and beyond unbelievable - the WInchester’s unfortunate appearance ( which was as horrible as it sounded, because they’d been presumed dead for some months by this point ) only served as a method of further complicating it all. ‘They were just here,’ Reid said matter-of-factly, and though Hotch seemed to agree, the glaring issue was the fact that people didn’t just. . disappear. Poof. Gone. They left no trace of where they went, and the messy room didn’t seem to be caused by a hurry to leave. It was infuriating, and Spencer didn’t entirely like that he couldn’t wrap his head around it in the way he wanted to. There was no amount of understanding, IQ or anything that could piece together the shattered fragments of information - or lack thereof - they were given. He took a deep breath, thumbed the bridge of his nose, ‘I don’t think we’re going to find anything here,’ he said, contemporaneously turning to look around the room once more. His gaze found Morgan’s (and the guy looked pissed, reasonably so), but not for long - they were leaving the room shortly thereafter, the door left open for the crime scene analysts.

‘They should have been there,’ he commented. ‘There’s no way they knew we were coming, and everything seemed so fresh.’ 

Morgan looked sideways at him, and then he sighed, nodding in something like agreement. The quiet was something more like a long pause, one heavy and showing the frustration in the vehicle rather well, before someone spoke again. It was Hotch this time, voice without inflection, sounding mostly unbothered - and they all knew better to actually assume Hotch was unbothered, but it was his tone anyway, ‘They can’t have gone far,’ he stated evenly. ‘If they’d left just before we got there, they’ll still be in the area. We just have to hope that they don’t move from wherever they went.’

For a moment, however brief, Spencer considered contesting the words. He didn’t, but he’d considered it anyway - instead, he wrinkled up his nose and ignored the way Derek looked sideways at him, almost as though asking for his reaction. He didn’t give one, though, because he had no need to. Instead, he spoke of something different, ‘We should probably visit the bar Dean was at last night. We can get answers that way.’

It’s obviously not without some hint of curiosity that Hotch turns the car around, heading in the opposite direction so they can actually get to the bar without taking a lengthy detour, so he continued with the concept, ‘What’s that going to do for us?’ It wasn’t condescending or demanding, rather. . open, actual curiosity. Spencer thought for a second, collected his thoughts, and then returned with, ‘Body language. If he was panicked or nervous looking, maybe calm and collected. . It’ll let us know if he thought we were onto them. Most subjects will be incredibly fretty and paranoid if they believe they’re going to be caught, and for them to have left in such a thin window of time, they’d of had to have been aware of us being onto them.’ 

Hotch was quiet after that.

The ride to the bar, a relatively small, cozy and local place named Par-T-Pub, was short, maybe three or four minutes, and Spencer climbed out of the SUV, heading in just behind Derek. Larry, a nametag read, was working that day, and it was relatively quiet - which, admittedly, wasn’t surprising given how early it was, and the fact that they’d opened up for the day a mere ten minutes ago. He couldn’t imagine that Larry would enjoy being questioned at seven-forty am, but simultaneously didn’t think it mattered. Either way, Larry’s eye met Hotch’s, and for a moment, he looked vaguely panicked. Spencer could point out the exact moment that the processing set in, and his brow furrowed. Hotch began to speak anyway, badge flashing in a way that said “don’t test me this morning, sire”, ‘We have some questions about a patron you might have encountered sometime last night,’ he said smoothly, and like he had with his badge, held up an image of Dean Winchester. Larry took it, looking over it with unnerving care, and then he nodded. 

‘Yeah, came in real late. An hour before closing, I think.’ he handed the image back to Hotch, continuing with cleaning the glass as he spoke, ‘Came up and sat next to this kid. Got a drink, but I don’t think he drank it. Talked to the kid for a while.’

Hotch looked. . concerned, somewhat. Spencer didn’t think he liked the implication - luckily, though, Derek seemed to wish to be more vocal with his concerns. ‘Why was there a kid in the bar?’ he asked, and Larry clammed up for a moment, freezing in place. He swallowed, worked his jaw as he thought, and then shrugged. ‘Said his ma worked here and that he was waiting on her. I thought it was weird, ‘coz there’s no girl that has a shift that late here. But I assumed he was waitin for her to come in is all. He asked for a drink, though, and - and that’s off topic. But anywhos, he left with the kid after maybe fifteen minutes. Kid didn’t look too good, though, like he was gonna be sick.’ The concern that laced his voice didn’t sound genuine, but they didn’t press it - not for now, anyway. Spencer poked in this time, ‘How old was the boy? What did he look like? Do you have any clue where they could have gone?’

‘Dark hair, schoolboy uniform, kinda pale. Not sure how old exactly, but he looked. . real young. Not real real young, but somewhere between ten and thirteen definitely.’ Larry described, and then continued, ‘No, and I feel real bad about that. He said that he was gonna take the kid to his ma, though, so I think he knew ‘em? Or he was just pretendin’. Either way, he said he was gonna take him to his ma. Said she’d be real mad if she “found out he’d gotten wasted” or somethin’ along those lines.’

‘He was drunk?’ Derek butted in once more, his teeth grit. Reid figured he might know where this was going, because immediately and frantically, Larry rushed to assure the agent, ‘I didn’t give it to him!’ ( a lie, and they had some suspicion of that, but didn’t explicitly know ) ‘Alls that happens is I walked away for a second, and when I came back, he just had it. I don’t know how he got it. I don’t give alcohol to boys, to kids, detective. Promise!' Larry stammered.

Though not convinced ( none of them were ), Hotch cleared his throat. ‘Right. We’ll be back with more questions later, Larry,’ he said, and handed the bartender a card. ‘Call this number if you remember anything else.’ 

They left after, and Derek, baffled, asked, ‘We’re seriously gonna believe that?’

Hotch pursed his lips, looking conflicted, and shook his head. ‘No, we’re not going to believe that. We’re going to call Prentiss and JJ and have them swing back to question him more. If there’s inconsistencies, they’ll take him to the station,’ he explained as Derek called Garcia. She picked up and before she could speak, he said, ‘Hey, mama. Kinda urgent,’ and she didn’t give her typical, whimsical greeting, instead let out a soft “oh”. ‘We need you to check for boys reported missing, aged ten to thirteen. Dark hair, pale skin, last seen in a schoolboys uniform.’ 

There was a long pause as Garcia worked the information out in her head, further punctuated as she likely put it into the computer, and then she asked, ‘Did something happen?’

‘Nothin’ concrete, mama. Bartender just said he saw Dean Winchester leaving the bar with a kid. We wanna check it out, see if it leads anywhere. Check the surrounding states, and if you don’t find anything, check further areas. We wanna make sure we’re not missing anything.’

‘No rock left unturned, my sculpted god of chocolate thunder.’ 

‘You’re the best, Garcia.’

The instant the phone call was over, Morgan let out a heavy sigh. ‘Kids have never been part of the Winchester’s MO before,’ he stated. ‘So unless he was a witness, I don’t know what use they’d get out of it.’

Spencer didn’t say anything, considering the very same point. Though it could be an evolution, it didn’t FEEL like one. Evolutions normally had something particular about them, but this was just. . abduction. Maybe a delusion - in the past tapes, Dean Winchester had repeatedly stated he thought someone was a shapeshifter. The very same thing could have happened here - Reid’s mind went to St. Louis, and he didn’t think he liked that imagery. 

At any rate, Spencer could have a little hope. The St. Louis scenario had a survivor ( if he remembered correctly, which he was thoroughly convinced that he DID ), which meant that this could be the very same. If Dean Winchester and his brother thought that some young boy was a shapeshifter then, maybe, limited by whatever vague morality they might carry, they’d spare him long enough for them to pin down their location. Reid wasn’t typically one to HOPE for things, because it inspired faux positivity, but he’d make a slight exception despite the statistics and the Winchester’s general nature.

Once they met up with the rest of the team, they discussed all that had happened. As Hotch had explained, Emily and JJ head back to the bar to question Larry further. As expected, Larry was inconsistent in his retelling of what had happened. He was taken to the station, much to Morgan’s relief - the man had seemed to deflate slightly, most tension leaving his shoulders, when he’d been told that they had detained him for the time being. It was temporary relief, though, because it was only one of three potential evils taken care of. Sam and Dean Winchester were still out there, presumably with a kid, described to be no older than thirteen, at their mercy. It made each of them sick, but Derek had been increasingly vocal about the severity of the situation, and though they all felt the very same, there wasn’t much they could do when they had no leads. Hotch had been the first to point that fact out, and though none of them were happy about it, they had to come to terms with that. They’d had countless cases like this one - a wild, sudden and unexpected variable, one that really threw the whole lot of them for a damn loop. They weren’t sure what to do with the new information that, apparently, the Winchesters now dragged children into their equations. 

Or where to go with it. Again, there were no leads - and maybe it was because they’d gotten too close. Maybe the Winchesters had been aware that they were backed into a corner, and taking a kid was simply the easiest option - the problem, the glaring problem, was that they really didn’t KNOW. They didn’t know why they’d taken the boy, what they planned on doing, or how they planned on going about any of this - and they had no way of finding out in that moment. All they had in the way of leads was one that had been a dead-end ; someone earlier in the day had seen the Impala, but not where it’d gone or where it had come from. It told them that the Winchesters were comfortable driving around in broad daylight, but not what they were actually doing in that time. Spencer sighed and rested his head in his hand, staring at the papers he’d been poring over moments earlier.

They had a lot of work to do.

* * *

If it hadn’t been evident at first that the kid was going to be a problem for them, a thorn in the side, then it definitely was now. He had a sharp tongue and wouldn’t hesitate to tell them that he didn’t want to speak to them ( Cas had gone to look over the rope burn, mostly reflecting the very concerns Sam or even Dean had shown in the past, and had wound up with his own blade pointed at his throat - at what point the boy had gotten his hands on the weapon they didn’t know, but Dean had nearly jumped into the backseat ), or even associate with them. Now that he was no longer weighted down by whatever he’d been given the night before, he was combative and volatile. He’d told Dean ( to quote ) that he was going to “turn his kneecaps into washing machine dials” if he didn’t stop, and with how creative of a threat that was, Dean decided he would be quiet for a while. Give him time to cool off, because he looked like he was (quite literally) about to explode with frustration. They’d been driving for sometime now, and though there was room to move freely, he hadn’t budged from where he sat at all, hands wound tightly into the blanket that was still pulled around his shoulders. He was still soaked in water, and though the heater going definitely helped, it didn’t stop him from being cold. They’d have to wait for the whole. . change of clothes thing, because they’d need to get to Bobby’s cabin first. The older man had given them the directions ( they didn’t know when he’d gotten in town, and he didn’t tell them ), and they’d figured that they really had nowhere else to go. In town was not an option - they’d been caught up with - and Dean wasn’t looking forward to being arrested at all. 

Disregarding that thought, the eldest of the two Winchesters looked over the seat, meeting the boy’s eyes. He was silent as he waited for Dean to speak, and when he finally did, the bitter look didn’t fade, ‘If you’re not the one killing people, then do you know anything about what - or who - is?’

Five’s nose screwed up. He huffed a laugh, though, one that didn’t reach his eyes or reflect any kind of amusement like Dean was hoping it might have. He didn’t reply for a moment, though when he did, it wasn’t as comforting as the brothers had been expecting it to be. ‘I never said I wasn’t the one killing them,’ Five stated simply. ‘Just that I’m not a demon - which is true. If you throw water - holy or otherwise - at me one more time, I’m putting your head through the god-damn windshield.’ 

Castiel looked something like concerned, or maybe just curious (it was hard to tell the difference if there even WAS one), and it wasn’t helping. Dean said nothing for a second, two, three, and then seemed to decide again replying entirely, turning around in his seat so he was facing forward. Sam was still silent, though his brows were raised as though shocked, and Dean would have laughed if it were any other scenario. But, given this one ( the fact that they’d kidnapped a kid, one that’s apparently been killing people at that ), it wasn’t very funny anymore. 

‘Why did you kill them?’ Sam asked finally, and the rigid silence that followed was, like everything in the last thirty minutes, far from comforting. Five didn’t seem like he was considering the answer he could give, moreso. . bothered by the question. Rather than answer outright, he said, ‘I don’t think that concerns you,’ and left it at that. Dean glanced over his shoulder - Sam might be content with that answer, but he wasn’t. ‘I think it DOES concern us. You’re in OUR car.’

‘You’re the ones that dragged me out of a bar and tied me up in your motel room,’ he bit out, voice raised just slightly. ‘What I do and why I do it doesn’t concern you. You’re lucky I don’t kill you just for dragging me out. I was FINE.’

Dean very nearly paled, but he was. . angry. Unreasonably angry. Fighting with a fucking child. Rather than back down like Sam’s gaze warned him to, he argued, ‘You were FINE? You were drugged. That sick fucking bartender slipped you something, and you were out of it. You weren’t FINE, you could’ve been -’ 

Sam had thumped him on the chest none-too-gently, and he’d stopped, getting the memo.

A pause. Five looked angry, like he was about to jump into the front seat and attack him, but he didn’t move ( not yet, anyway. ). The silence persisted as though he was trying to figure out what to say, as though trying to consider what was being said, and then he looked a little sick on top of all the anger, turning his head. He said nothing. Dean didn’t expect him too, and despite the new quiet, the tension in the car was almost unbearable. The boy’s shoulders were hunched, and he looked out the car’s window with an expression that made Dean think he’s a lot older than he looks. Still, the way he sat made him appear younger, smaller, and for a moment, the hunter wondered if that might be the intention. They spent the rest of the car ride like that ( in almost complete silence ), and only once they arrived at Bobby’s cabin ( now it was dark, the full moon hanging bright overhead ) did they consider speaking.

He was asleep, though, curled against the door of the car, head leaned against the cool window. His hair had dried earlier in the day, and now it was disheveled and awkward where it had formerly been plastered to his forehead. Dean went to reach out, only to find his wrist entrapped in a shockingly strong grasp. The boy’s green eyes were suddenly open and level with his own, no indication of sleep in them. He said nothing as he released the hunter, merely unbuckled himself and stepped out of the vehicle. There was two inches of snow on the ground, the rest still coming down smoothly and sticking to the road and dirty, beaten forest path. They carefully led him into the cabin ( kept their distance, because the way he’d glared over his shoulder at Cas when the angel had gotten a little too close on accident wasn’t comforting in the slightest ), and once they had their things set down, they yelled for Bobby.

The older hunter made his way into the room, talking as he went, ‘I know you mentioned some demon, but neither of you bothered filling me in on what else was the damn matter. Urgent news my ass, you look fine. Seriously. Wastin’ my damn ti -’

A pause as he finally stopped in place. Bobby looked shocked for a moment, as though he couldn’t ( or wouldn’t ) believe his eyes, and then he looked at Sam, then Dean, who seemed flustered. Cas was indifferent, seeming to find no issue with the situation at hand ( but he didn’t count - angels never had the best judgement when it came to concerns of morality ). ‘. . Okay. I better be hallucinating. It better be this damn -’

‘Bobby. It was a misunderstanding, but not that much of one. He’s -’

Tiring of the back-and-forth, Five cleared his throat. ‘Not a demon. You can put your flask down.’ The last bit was said with a colder edge as he glanced to it for emphasis - Bobby had been holding it readily, like he was about to unscrew the cap and throw its contents at the boy’s face. Luckily for both of them, though, it didn’t happen ; Dean nodded in agreement when the older hunter looked to him for confirmation, and then sighed deeply. ‘BUT he’s the one that’s been killing people. Those hunters you said you’d heard of.’

There was nothing said at first - Bobby was no doubt considering what that could entail, and without much hesitation, he asked, ‘You a hunter, kid?’ 

Five thought about it for a second or two, and then shook his head. ‘Nope,’ he said, popping the “p” obnoxiously and in a way that made Dean want to take an open palm to the back of his head. He didn’t, though, because he didn’t think that’d go over well at all. Instead, he took a seat on the couch, arms folded across his chest. It was unlikely for Bobby to go with the kid’s shit - the “I don’t have to tell you while I’m brutally murdering hunters” shit.

Unfortunately, Five did not’ give Bobby - or any of them - the opportunity to be mad about his insistence that it “wasn’t their business”. Instead, he shrugged the blanket off, and took a deep breath. ‘Where’s. . the bathroom. I need a shower.’

‘You need to answer our q -’ 

‘I don’t need to do anything for YOU.’ he sneered, teeth grit, and for a moment, he looked feral. Absolutely wild. ‘You’re the reason I’m here. I don’t have to do anything for you, I don’t have to answer anything I don’t want to. Where’s the fucking bathroom.’

Finding that the arguing was distasteful, Castiel spoke up, a gravelly voice sounding out. ‘It is there,’ he said, pointing - Five’s gaze followed the direction, and without saying anything, he walked over. The door slammed behind him, and they could hear the lock click from where they sat in the living room. The water started running shortly after, and Dean finally exhaled. Bobby looked perplexed, eyes frozen to the younger hunters. ‘You kidnapped a damn kid?’ he asked aloud, as though still in disbelief about THAT detail.

‘Okay, look, I know it was a dumb mistake,’ Dean reasoned, ignoring the look he was given, ‘But I’ll fix it. He says he’s got no parents and no family that’s looking for him, which is. . depressing, but, you know. We’ll. . fix it. Like we always do. And he’s not a normal kid, by the way. He teleports. I saw it with my own two eyes.’

The next hour or so was spent discussing the problem at hand ; that being the boy that was still in the shower in the other room. Sam was concerned - Dean was, too, but Sam didn’t think that Dean should be the one to check on him. So he knocked, a gentle rapping of the knuckles on the wooden door. The silence was daunting, but it didn’t last very long ; shortly after, there was a sharp “what” that came from the other side of the door. Sam wrinkled up his nose, sighed, and then asked, ‘Is everything okay? You’ve been in there for a while.’

‘How long?’ Five questioned, voice muffled and slightly distant, like he wasn’t close to the door.

‘An hour, I think?’

‘. . Oh,’ he said, voice. . softer that time. The water was still running, though not for long, because it shut off shortly after it was pointed out that he’d been in for some time. Without thinking, Sam asked, ‘Can I come in?’

The quiet he was met with wasn’t assuring. It persisted for a minute, two minutes, and then the door unlocked. ‘Stay by the door,’ Five said coldly. Sam nodded as he carefully opened it, keeping his hands open - mostly just so the boy didn’t get the wrong idea when he actually entered the room. He was back in that uniform ( it was dry now for the most part, the only still-damp parts being in the mid-back part of the blazer ), and somehow looked even more like hell than before. Before, he’d just been dirty - now, though, the dirt was gone and now Sam could see that most of what he’d assumed was just. . dirt and grime were bruises - one dark and angry looking beneath the right eye, and the other along the curve of his jaw like he’d been grabbed. He knew it wasn’t because of Dean. 

He frowned, though, and fidgeted. ‘Are you. . okay?’ he tried, even knowing he wasn’t likely to get an actual answer.

Like expected, Five didn’t reply at first ; unexpected, though, he did not long after. It wasn’t in the form of an answer to the question, of course, but it was telling on its own - Five looked to Sam, and then carefully pulled the sleeve of his blazer off one shoulder. ‘I need your help with something. Two things.’ 

Sam frowned as he watched, but nodded along anyway. ‘If I tell you to get away, you do it. I don’t care if. . Just.’ A long pause. ‘You’ll do it.’ 

He nodded his confirmation, and though skeptical, it was enough for the boy. He took a breath and then rolled up the dress-shirt’s sleeve. There was a nasty bruise, and his shoulder looked. . swollen, out of place. It was mutually awkward and gross looking, but he didn’t seem too bothered by it, only wincing in pain as he moved to roll the sleeve up further. It went without saying that actually removing the dress shirt to make this easier was out of the question, and Sam didn’t plan on asking him to. ‘What HAPPENED?’ 

‘Long story,’ Five said instead of answering, which wasn’t surprising. ‘Just. . Pop it back. I couldn’t do it.’ Sam stood there, not having exactly expected to of been commanded to do it, but he didn’t protest. Instead, he nodded, and waited for Five to offer his arm out - once he did, Sam carefully took hold of his wrist with one hand, a loose and light hold, the other going to just above the bend of his elbow. The skin was cold beneath his fingertips, like the boy had sat in the cold water for a while ( maybe he had - Sam wasn’t about to ask, though ). He ignored it in favor of doing what had been asked of him, and he only stopped when Five pulled back, his own hands quickly retreating back.

They waited a few minutes, six in total, before trying again. This time he didn’t recoil, simply watched as Sam carefully externally rotated the humerus until resistance was felt. He paused, watching for some kind of reaction ( there was none, but he waited a good ten seconds anyway before continuing ). Once he felt it was okay to do so, he adducted the arm until he both heard and felt the pop - Five’s teeth were grit, and he looked vaguely uncomfortable, but aside from that, there was nothing. He pulled away, careful as he did it so he didn’t pop it out of place again, and then took a breath ( if it sounded shaky, Sam didn’t mention it, sure that he’d be stabbed with one of the toothbrushes if he did ). 

‘What’s the second thing?’

Five looked as though he was considering if he actually needed help with the unspecified second thing. He’d pulled the sleeve of his blazer up again by this point, seeming much more comfortable - and after a few minutes, he seemed to have decided. He swallowed, let out a sharp exhale, and shook his head. ‘Nevermind it. What are they doing in there?’

‘Talking about you,’ Sam said smoothly. Five looked disgruntled, maybe a little annoyed, but nothing more ( or less ) than that. ‘Course,’ he grunted. ‘Nothing better to do.’

Sam was quiet. He said nothing in response, though Five was looking at him now, and it was definitely clear that he WANTED to say something to the kid. 

‘Well?’

Right.

The taller of the two took a deep breath, and then offered something like a shrug. ‘Just. . About what Dean said in the car. About the bartender. I know he said it really poorly, and he could’ve. . not put that out there in front of us, but -‘

Horrified, or something close to it, Five interrupted, ‘There’s no buts.’ His words were rushed, like he couldn’t get them out quick enough to be happy about it. ‘Nothing happened. Nothing. . was going to happen. I would’ve handled it. Your brother might think he knows what would have happened, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know about THAT, and he sure as hell doesn’t know ME. You should tell him he needs to take a few lessons in not assuming things.’

‘There’s just some sick people in the world,’ Sam rushed to assure him, ‘Like I said, he worded it really badly and he was definitely crude, but it was the simplest way to put it. Something horrible could’ve happened, and you were -’

‘Inebriated? I know. Mildly. I don’t know what I was given, but it would’ve been fine.’ Five snapped. 

‘He said you could barely stand,’ he defended once more. ‘You’re a thirteen year old boy. You WERE a thirteen year old boy in a BAR of all places. At two in the damn morning.’

Irritated, and maybe shaking ( though it was chalked up to the fact that he was probably cold, having just, assumedly, sat under the blast of cold water for close to twenty minutes ), Five suddenly said, ‘Conversation’s over. Thanks for your help, but -’

‘Wait, kid -’

‘Get out.’

‘I just -’

‘Get the FUCK out!’

Sam stepped backward out of the bathroom, and the door slammed in front of him just a second after. The lock clicked in place, and then there was silence. He was red in the face, lips parted as though he’d been interrupted. Dean’s voice called for him from the living room, and he sighed as he walked in ( mostly so his brother didn’t rush over - that’d certainly be the last thing they needed ).

‘What happened?’

Sam shook his head. Rather than specify, he sat down, and said, 

‘Right back at square one.’

Dean groaned and leaned back, hands over his face in exasperation. It was going to be an agonizingly long process, each of them knew. Their attempts ( there were three in total - Dean had tried twice, and Sam’s attempt had been the third and most recent ) were failures. They didn’t exactly know how to deal with children, let alone children that didn’t hesitate to yell back at them when they said something he didn’t like. Dean wasn’t sure what to do.

Maybe they’d try to send Cas after the kid next time. Could do them some good.


	4. still, the haunted ruins of night call your name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> diego action BABEEYYYY
> 
> ok so, some notes ahead of time
> 
> a ) some of this is based on my rp server. diego and five have a much closer and more in depth bond there. it's very sweet.  
> b ) this is one of my first few times writing diego. pls be nice to me.
> 
> i forgot to plug this in the last note. my tumblr is @bruhzones. if you ever do anything for this fic, please tag me. i would die for you.
> 
> if you have any questions, pls feel free to ask them!
> 
> ( ALSO. I KNOW I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO NOTE THIS, BUT NONE OF THIS IS INCEST. NONE OF THIS IS EVEN INDICATIVE OR EVEN REMINISCENT OF INCEST. THEY ARE BROTHERS. FIVE IS THIRTEEN. That is all. ♥ )

The kid they’ve kidnapped ( was it kidnapping if he didn’t have a family and wasn’t in a foster home? ) - ( his name was Five, he had stated to them twice now - in his own words, he’d said, “No, it’s not short for anything. No, it’s not just a nickname. No, you don’t need to give me an ‘actual name’.”, and Dean wasn’t about to contest those words, not when he’d come two seconds from crushing his windpipe with one tiny, noodle-like arm. For a ( supposedly ) thirteen year old boy, he had strength that didn’t quite line up with his looks. Before he’d nearly been strangled, Dean might have assumed that he couldn’t hurt a fly.

He was clearly horribly mistaken about that belief.

But that wasn’t the point ; what was, however, was the fact that the boy had taken one of the rooms and hadn’t come out. When he did, it wasn’t for long and he ignored them ( the most conversation they’d gotten had been a very curt “fuck off”, and if Dean wasn’t frustrated by the constant attitude then he might be proud that such youth could be so. . not fearful in an environment he’d been, for lack of better phrasing, forced into ). They were at a standstill, and while Dean was rather horrified ( still ) that he’d been the reason this kid was here in the first place, they had each accepted that if it wasn’t here, then he’d probably be on the streets, and that was no place for a kid. The only time they got to peek into the room was when he left it cracked - they didn’t walk in all the way, not since he had practically driven Bobby into the wall when he sprinted back upon noticing they’d gotten a little too close. From what Dean had seen, though, the walls were pleasantly bedizened with what must have been hundreds of impossible math equations, most of which seemed to scramble even Sammy’s brains. Dean might have felt some small swell of pride in him if he wasn’t just as confused as his brother seemed to be. 

Disregarding that, he was met with two options. The first of the two, the one he didn’t want to entertain the thought of, was that they just left the boy alone. Let his streak of isolation run its course, and when he inevitably came to them for company, they’d open their arms and bring him into the family. It was Sam’s idea - and Dean didn’t buy into it as much as he probably wanted to, because it was the easy way and they never had things the easy way. The second option, though, was one he favored ; it involved nothing more than kicking the door in. No warning, no words, just getting the door open because it WAS their cabin ( or Bobby’s, technically, but Bobby didn’t seem to care either way ). It, of course, was hardly thought through and Sam definitely seemed like he was against it, but Dean didn’t care all that much. It was annoying to be ignored ( he didn’t admit it, but they could all tell, what with his short( er than usual ) fuse and generally snappy tone ). He’d had it up to here ( making a gesture to the crown of his head ) with the kid’s attitude and, apparently, had decided that enough was enough. It wasn’t surprising, but Sam had still sighed so deeply that Dean might’ve assumed he’d burst his lung in the herculean effort it took to bring the oxygen back in. 

The part of him that cared about his brother’s exhaustion toward his indifference and general recklessness was cached, though, pushed to the back of his mind and replaced instead by the incessant need to be noticed, to be present in the little shit’s mind. A presence that simply would not let him isolate freely ( even if he got the same way sometimes, and maybe Dean’s just doing it because he’s seeing bits and pieces of himself in a kid he didn’t know two weeks ago ), because Dean was simply THAT annoying, could get away with that. Maybe. Maybe he’d be shot or stabbed or otherwise maimed for it, but it’d been a week and they’d only seen glimpses of a kid that was THEIR responsibility. 

He felt his anger, frustration and general impatience was justified. So, when Dean found himself with a boot lined up with the door, found the wood caving under the force of the kick, he felt he was justified. What he didn’t feel was justified, though, was the fact that there was suddenly a rifle in his face ( Bobby’s rifle, Dean noted to himself absently, but couldn’t find the braincell he needed to ponder how, when or why the kid had gotten ahold of Bobby’s rifle ). He sucked in a breath and his gaze went from the barrel of it to the boy’s face, and he looked livid. Dean felt anger flicker in himself once more - not because of the boy’s look, particularly, but because for a moment, it had him considering the option to back down. Back down from a BOY? A kid that was hardly half his size? 

‘Put the damn gun down,’ Dean grit out, ‘We just want to make sure that -’

‘I’m okay?’ Five’s voice was dry and sarcastic, words clipped and his expression pinched in a way that read complete and utter rage. He was angry, and though the reason why ( a huge invasion of privacy for no reason ) was clear, Dean wasn’t processing it. He was just angry, too, and Sam looked stuck, his hands extended and palms facing the boy, as though it would help.

‘We just want to help you,’ the taller of the three said for emphasis, ‘Please. We - I know there was a better way to go about it, but he means well. I promise.’

Five looked considerate for a moment, and though there was no immediate danger ( Five’s finger wasn’t even on the trigger, but it was close enough that any sudden movement could change it in an instant ), Dean’s heart raced in his chest. ‘You bust into a room for no reason other than wanting to help? Have you not heard of knocking?’

‘Would you have answered us if we knocked?’

He didn’t respond to that immediately, instead steadying his aim as he looked toward Dean again, green meeting green as they stared one another down. Sam’s own gaze flicked between them uncertainly, though he could hardly mask his relief as the boy finally stepped back, gun raising up toward the ceiling. His circumspection was admirable, though a little less than comforting when it was toward them. Bobby slid into the room somewhere behind the brothers, and nudged Sam in the back with a tray, ‘Here,’ he said, and then to Five this time, ‘It’s for you. Breakfast. The angel didn’t make it this time.’

Five made a face at the memory ( he’d gone into the kitchen for only a second, and he’d tried some of the food that LOOKED light, easy on the stomach - and he was sure it would have been if it wasn’t horrible burnt and cooked the wrong way ), but took the tray when it was offered to him from Sam and then set it on the desk behind him. The desk, they noticed now, was covered in paper. Bobby was positive he didn’t even own that much in this house, and Dean just wanted to know what was on it. As such, being one to speak his mind and always being the one to ask the dumb questions, went ahead with it ; ‘What are the equations for? Level with us for a second.’

Five looked more disheveled than he had been when Dean had found him. There were dark rings beneath his eyes, and he pressed his knuckles into each of them to rub what Dean assumed was sleepiness out, before he finally spoke ( it was nothing new, but sparked the anger in him once again nonetheless ) ; ‘It’s none of your business.’ Even while saying this, he seemed ( somewhat ) grateful for the coffee he was given as he took what must have been a much-needed sip of it. It was almost sad, and Dean could tell Sam was commiserate, so he let his brother be the one of them that would stay that way.

He ground his teeth together, cursing himself for a complete lack of cognizance in that moment - though, if he was being honest with himself AND his brother, neither of them knew what the deal was. Sam knew math, but not math like this. It was crazy, and the walls were covered in it - every little corner, crevice and aperture had some piece of an equation written over it. It was all in chalk ( where had he gotten chalk? ) luckily, but that didn’t change the confusion. ‘You gettin’ enough sleep?’ Dean asked after his first question failed miserably, implying that maybe the equations sprawled over the walls, ceiling ( and parts of the floor ) alike were a result of a concoction of lack of sleep, poor eating habits and running on fumes and coffee that Bobby made every morning. He didn’t seem too happy about that, though, because he looked at Dean like he’d been insulted. “Sleep has nothing to do with it, you idiot. It’s still none of your business.’ And Dean has to stop himself from jumping on a kid that’s barely half his size and not even close to his own weight. Sam looked more than prepared to stop him if his self control didn’t work though, thankfully, it did ; he stayed rooted to the spot, hand curled into a fist and his chest going up and then down as he inhaled sharply, then blew it out. ‘You’re getting on my last damn nerve,’ Dean griped aloud, because if he wasn’t allowed to share the emotion physically then he was damn going to do it verbally. Five looked unbothered by this information, even took a calm sip of his coffee, before he flashed that all-bared-teeth grin, one that he didn’t mean in the slightest, and said, ‘Good. I wouldn’t want you getting too comfortable.’ 

Dean looked like he wanted to move. He really did. His entire body had gone rigid, shoulders stiff and teeth grit, brows furrowed. He’d been pissed off before, plenty of time - Sam was there in ninety percent of the cases, too. It was nothing new. But he’d never gotten quite to the point of wanting to hit a boy that’s barely a teenager -- then again, he’d yet to meet a boy THIS. . irritating. Maybe himself, but Dean had never met himself, and after this? He didn’t think he wanted to. Sam, seeing the anger, quickly said, ‘Right, right. But, um, we just think that you should get some fresh air. We haven’t seen you leave in a while, and we have some things that you could help us do.’

Five looked at them, skeptical and squinting, thumbing the side of the glass cup as though wondering if he should finish the coffee off or make a mess by throwing it at them. For the sake of not making a mess ( he’d just cleaned one up ), he went with the former and moved across the room, ignoring Dean as he stepped back to avoid Five’s unburdened path. From one corner to the next - without looking back at them, and seemingly without caring that they were still in the room, he began, ‘What kind of things?’ a pause. Considering his options, trying to grasp the depth and weight of the two in his head without compartmentalizing and overcomplicating them first. ‘And I don’t need to go out. I’ve got my own things to worry about.’

Sam blanked. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Maybe he should’ve taken into account that while normal thirteen year olds might have been enthused and overly excited to tag along, Five simply wasn’t the same as what and who they were accustomed to. Finally having something in mind ( that wasn’t a complete lie ), Sam replied, ‘A hunt. You can help us with a hunt. Since we know you’re the one killing HUNTERS, you can help us find out where the things that are killing CIVILIANS are. How’s that sound? We could all use some fresh air.’

Castiel, feeling the need to butt in right at that moment, said, ‘But Samuel, we do know what is killing civilians,’ and Five side-eyed the angel for a split second. Then, after deciding it wasn’t worth it to be snarky or rude, he asked, ‘Then what is it?’

‘Vampires,’ stated the angel matter-of-factly. ‘I do not understand the reason behind acting as though we do not know what is killing civilians. If you do wish for him to help, it would be wise to tell him what he will be dealing with if he accepts your offer. Most children would be elated. His displayed comportment is not in line with that of a child, Samuel - and Dean - you cannot expect it to go well if you lie-’

When Five’s head shot up and his eyes landed on Sam, the tall oaf rushed to assure him of the opposite, in that ; ‘No, nonono. It wasn’t a lie. I did not lie to you. Yes, we know it’s vampires.’

‘So why not just tell me that?’

‘Would you have believed me?’

‘You’re stupider than you look if you think there’s any part of hunting I wouldn’t believe.’

Sam was beginning to see Dean’s frustration. Rather than let it fester, he smiled, tense and solely to break tension, and said, ‘Right.’

Rather than dwell on the potential argument there ( though he might want to indulge fully ), Five instead waved a hand dismissively ( both figuratively and literally waving the train of thought away, brushing the conversation off because it didn’t matter to him anymore ), and sighed. ‘Okay,’ his voice was even, ‘I’ll help. But if you try to stop me from doing anything, if you get in my way,’ he trailed off, the implications obvious. Sam, deciding he didn’t want it to seem like they weren’t catching his drift, said, ‘Yup. Yup, got it. Okay.’ They stood there like. . idiots for a moment, simply watching the boy finish up what he was writing on the wall, when he turned to look over his shoulder and snapped, ‘Are you just going to stand around? I’ll be ready in a second. Go get your shit together.’

Dean wondered if it’d be too late to go back on his “ kids don’t belong on the street “ thought.

* * *

There were a lot of things wrong right now - so many that Diego wasn’t sure he could list even half of them in one breath. First and foremost, though, and the one that had driven them out to Kingston, Tennessee in the first place, was that Five was missing. Not in the traditional sense - he hadn’t been taken by anyone, they didn’t think. Something had happened one night ( it was their fault, really, pushing and prodding at things they shouldn’t be pushing and prodding at - nudging him to talk when he probably wasn’t ready to - and he’d snapped. Had yelled and told them to, in the kindest summary of the words that had been shared, fuck off ), and he’d gone off. They had expected that he’d come back the next day, maybe have some coffee in the morning at the academy, but he hadn’t come back that day. Or the next. Or the next. And when the days turned into weeks, they knew something was wrong. Five might be a natural isolator, but he didn’t tend to leave them for that long, no matter how pissed off he was about something. It was the first red flag.

The second being that he didn’t tend to let his phone go to voicemail when they were the ones calling, but he hadn’t answered a single desperate three a.m. call or text, and he’d been answering a lot of those before he disappeared - before he left ( Five hadn’t been taken, Diego reiterated to himself, because Five wasn’t the type of person to be taken or abducted. Five was. . well. Five. ). He and Diego had gotten closer over the months after the apocalypse had been narrowly averted, and Five had been the one to give Diego a haircut after Dallas, and he told him to get a better job ( the animal shelter had spots open, Five said one night, and Diego had taken it in a heartbeat ). Yeah, they’d gotten pretty close.

It went without saying that Diego was concerned for his brother, enough to go ahead of the group on multiple occasions ( to the police station, to the bar, to the woods where those people were killed, to one of their houses [ they were dead now, too, it seemed ], to the still-a-crime-scene-technically motel ). It irritated his siblings, but he knew that they were just as stir-crazy as he was. It didn’t change their frustration, of course, but they understood his actions nonetheless. 

It was a simple process once they got there - a simple process that had gotten this far in their makeshift “investigation”. Klaus talks to the ghosts ( that claim Five has killed them - Diego didn’t doubt it, but he didn’t feel sympathy for them. What might have been a mindless assumption of “ what the fuck, why did he do that? Is he so cold hearted?” was now a “well, you probably deserved it anyway” and the cold shoulder, because Diego had seen enough to know that Five didn’t do things without rhyme or reason, and when his siblings jumped the gun about the whole “Five killing supposedly innocent people in a small town” situation, Diego had just as quickly jumped to defend him. It wasn’t something he would have done before, defending an accused murderer, but the times changed, he guessed ), the ghosts told Klaus where they’d seen Five go, and they followed the non-existent-but-there breadcrumbs left by their simultaneously older and younger brother. Five was hard to find, and though it wasn’t likely he knew that they were in town, it certainly felt like it with how well he was hidden. 

And then, after speaking with the FBI ( much to Diego’s dismay, because the government had been quick to become something hated much more than anticipated for him ), they told them they were his siblings. It wasn’t a lie, of course, and it got them into the details - they’d come from New York to look for their little brother, whom of which had disappeared a month earlier. They’d scoured New York until they’d gotten an anonymous tip ( a ghost, Klaus whispered to Diego humorlessly when Allison had said it ) that their brother was spotted in Tennessee, and then they’d headed out. The nervous, quiet agent had believed them, and so had the more abrasive, straight-forward one, and it was easy. A concerned family that wants to help with an investigation, which their brother happens to be deeply entangled in for some ( temporarily ) unspoken reason.

They accidentally called Five by that name in front of the agents. Confused as they were, Allison had rushed to explain it away : Five was a nickname, that his real name ( as wrong as it felt to say it ) was Elliot ( Hargreeves ), and that he just preferred the nickname by a considerable margin. The agents, though confused, only asked why - and Diego told them gladly that their father had not been the best man, that they were depersonalized more often than not, and that their brother had simply latched onto the name Five in childhood. It stuck with the agents ( and it was, by all accounts, the truth. Five had refused a name when the children were each given one by their mother, and though none of them ever knew what name he was supposed to have, they had their imaginations ).

And then they get the news. Diego heard it first, maybe just because he was paying that much attention, but he’d been the first to hear. Their brother is alive ( from what they know ), but their brother was ALSO last seen half ( or maybe pure ) wasted in a bar, escorted by a presumed-dead-felon ( murderer ) that’s got a history of killing things that he deems weird or unnatural.

Five is nothing if not weird or unnatural.

It’s devastating. Confusing.

Enraging.

Diego had stormed out of the station within five minutes of their explanation. Every five minutes ( why is it Five? His brain was hyper aware of every five minutes specifically - maybe it was just the name association. One of the most commonly used references for passage of time was, ironically, his time-traveling brother’s name, and Diego couldn’t let it go ), he looked at the clock. He looked at the cars passing, half expected to see Five driving one of them ( maybe sitting on a pile of phonebooks he’s found, because Five was - is - short, and can barely see over the steering wheel if he’s sitting in the car without anything in the seat ), and became irritated when he saw nobody but those who must be locals. 

Klaus exited shortly after, and a hand was on Diego’s shoulder, his brother leaning against him as though it would offer support. Figuring that wouldn’t work in full, though, Klaus began, ‘Look. This ghost guy here won’t stop bothering me. I’ll ask him if he’s seen Fivey, and then we can - or you can - do your little. . detective vigilante thing. Try not to get arrested for obstruction of justice though, please, you’re like. . the glue holding us together, man.’

Diego wanted to laugh, to smile, to say something to assure Klaus that he won’t get arrested ( or killed, or taken, or whatever else could happen in this backwards ass town ), but he can’t find it in himself. Instead, he nodded, and said, ‘I’ll try.’ 

It’s good enough for Klaus, because he straightened up shortly after, pulling either arm over the opposite shoulder as he stretched, and then turned away from Diego and. . began speaking to thin air. Even knowing that Klaus was speaking to a ghost didn’t make that sight any less staggering. His brother turned back some odd three minutes later, looking vaguely thrown off, and Diego’s brow furrowed in subtle consternation as he waited for something, anything - and then Klaus, finally deciding he didn’t like Diego’s brooding ( and noticing that Diego wasn’t going to REQUEST the information verbally ), sighed whimsically. ‘Mister Corpse says the car Five was in went off some janky dirt road,’ he said. ‘Ghost didn’t follow him very far, though. It’s real disappointing. I was really hoping he’d just -’

A pause as he looked up, realizing distantly that Diego had probably gone off the instant he’d heard “ janky dirt road “. ‘Diego?’ did a one-eighty to look around himself, and then sighed.

‘Damn twins, those two. Always going off when I’m mid-sentence.’

* * *

Five wasn’t sure why he agreed to tag along. Maybe just because he DID need the fresh air, too cramped in a cabin that didn’t belong to him, around people that he didn’t necessarily know ( and didn’t care about enough to actually GET to know ). It was dark, there was snow on the ground, and Five had nearly slipped when his foot hit the ground when he got out of the car. He said nothing about the near mishap, and it didn’t seem like they’d seen it ( except that Angel, maybe, because he stared - but he didn’t laugh. Rather, he looked mildly concerned, and that was the furthest extent of his expression ). They talk about a plan somewhere next to him, but he didn’t care - Five knew how to take care of a vampire. He wasn’t a monster expert, he wouldn’t say, but he knew his fair share - traveling and learning via trial and error did him wonders. The wonder-twins tell him something like “ stay behind them as they pick the lock “ or “ don’t make too much noise “, but Five couldn’t be bothered with something as primal as lock-picking ( not when he was so energetic, anyway ). He vanished from sight, shocked the both of them, and then suddenly the loud, metal warehouse door creaked open and he stared at them with some air of boredom. 

‘Show-off,’ Dean commented, and Five suppressed the urge to retort. It hurt, almost ( not almost - it did hurt, but Five wasn’t exactly prepared to perceive that he could miss someone, a group of people, so much that it physically hurt him still ), how much Dean reminded him of Diego. Similar sounding names and everything. He almost smiled - but didn’t, not quite. There was a job to do, and if there was one thing he could always count on himself for, it would be shouldering the cordial part ( however small it may be ) of his brain in favor of focusing on the task at hand. 

A burden for another time, then - another burden to add to the list of them. He didn’t mind that much here and now, but he would later when he eventually had to face it, likely in the form of half-spoken and slurred words, fingers of one hand wrapped around the neck of a bottle and the other hand holding a photograph gingerly - it was how he spent some nights of some months, unable to truly stomach the weight of all that had happened in his life ( near sixty years of living, he reminded himself, staggered by the number even when he was the most sure of it out of all of them ).Those nights were hard, but most of the time, he had his family if he needed them. Five wasn’t sure if he could face them again, though. He had gone through hell and back, and then through hell again as they made a trip through barely-pre-apocalypse-Dallas in order to save the world, for them, but couldn’t find it in him to face them after a fucking argument. Something caused by stress and nothing that he’d ( or they’d ) meant.

It was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. Luckily for him, though, hunting - or helping with hunting - gave him plenty of them to actually ignore his issues. He didn’t exactly want to be thinking about how fucked up he and his siblings were when he was trying to kill vampires and the likes - it simply wasn’t practical.

As such, the instant he got the chance and had the slightest knowledge of where the aforementioned beasts were located, he got a brief plan and fail-safe backup together and then went off on his own. The last he’d heard had been Dean’s sharp hiss of “don’t you fucking do it” before he’d rounded the corner, gone from sight. He vanished even further, though unfortunately for him, he’d miscalculated - or he had calculated correctly and had STILL fucked up, because there was a vampire directly at his front, beady eyes staring down at him almost expectantly. ‘Where did you come from, little one?’ it purred, and he really didn’t have time for this. Rather than fuck around, Five moved, and then in one clean ( kind of clean, he’d nearly gone down with the body when it fell when the head was taken off ) movement he’d taken the damn things head clean off its shoulders, and yeah, maybe that was a little cathartic. Dean’s voice was somewhere behind him, and suddenly there’s a clipped “What the fuck do you think you’re doing”, but he must’ve seen the body because then he’s quiet, and it seemed to have clicked for him.

He had nothing more to nag about after that. Five almost laughed, but smothered it with one hand as he rubbed at his face. With more pressing matters, Five continued ; he didn’t think they had much time to spare. With one Vampire dead, the rest were bound to find him sooner rather than later, and Five didn’t want to be caught in THAT crossfire. Young as Five looked, he wasn’t credulous ; he knew what he was doing. Not an expert on the creature, but he knew enough. It got him by. It was fine. He made a fist and then took a breath as he disappeared again, reappearing this time by a vampire that had just entered the room. He reached up ( with some struggle, standing on the tips of his toes to reach the whole way ) and yanked their head back, and then it was gone - Dean watched on in silent and slight horror, but still said nothing. He and Sam had been taught how to do the very same thing at a young age. It wasn’t all shocking.

It was rinse and repeat for a while. The kid took care of himself well, that. . power of his coming in handy. Until it didn’t, of course, because he could only avoid so many vampires consecutively. The power sputtered and protested as he went to use it, and then there was cold shock as he realized he was stuck, and then he threw up an arm. Teeth closed around his wrist, biting through skin and drawing blood relatively quickly. He hissed a “fuck” through grit teeth and staggered, back hitting the wall, but maneuvered carefully as to not strike himself with his own weapon. 

A hand lashed out. The weapon hit the floor. His heart kicked off in his chest, racing beneath the skin, as the teeth buried in his wrist dug further. It wasn’t a good feeling. Five had been a moment, maybe two, from resorting to yanking his arm free when suddenly a blade cut through the neck of the creature, and he was able to safely pry the teeth out of him ( he would keep the ones that had come loose in his skin, though, because that was a nice little trophy ), but it came at a “ small “ cost ; the blood now flowed freely, easily coating the skin that was visible through the torn fabric of his blazer. He heaved a breath, but pressed on anyway. There was only one more.

‘Five -’

He ignored the voice, rounded the closest corner ( he’d picked up his weapon shortly before ) and disappeared once again. He was fast, though a little slowed down by a gash that marked the skin from the bend of his inner knee to his upper calf ( not deep, more superficial than anything, but still didn’t look good ). 

The vampire was killed with relative ease, and though they were all worse for wear ( Five sported a multitude of bruises now, and he had blood all over him, but he guessed that it didn’t really matter in the long run ), they’d gotten through it alive. He didn’t quite know when he’d fallen, but he did know that the ceiling of the warehouse had turned into the ceiling of the Impala, and he felt like he was floating and that hand on his arm definitely wasn’t supposed to be there. He grunted as though to point that fact out, but no words came out - only a huff. There was pressure, and the car was rumbling to life, and his head felt like it was going to explode, a headache pounding out the sides of it. Had he hit his head? With his good arm, he reached up to feel at his temples - and when his fingertips went red and warm, he grimaced. That wasn’t great.

‘Five -’ Came a distorted, distant voice, one that made his ears ring and his vision swim. He blinked, tried to focus, but found that it was a little difficult. It felt like there was something in his eyes, and maybe it was his own blood - his head didn’t feel too great, and it was a bit hard to see, and yeah, that’s definitely blood. His, preferably, but blood nonetheless.

His eyes fluttered. When they opened again, he wasn’t in the Impala anymore, and the light above him was one he recognized as one from the cabin. There was something weaving in and out of his arm, and he was almost positive it was someone stitching it up - he felt blindly at his head again, fingertips instead meeting neat, clean bandaging where they’d touched blood last. At least they were smart enough to do that. He heard the snipping of scissors, and decided that a nap might not be so bad. He hurt distant mumbling, but nothing more ( nothing less ) as consciousness once again evaded him. 

He’s awake within two hours. Exhausted as he might have been, his body decided that two hours was enough, and he was jolting up. A hand goes to his chest as though to hold him down and on instinct, he lashed out - his fist connected with something, and a choked gasp told him that “something” was someone’s throat, and oh, he needs to fight. He didn’t know where he was. Two hours of sleep and you’d think he could remember where he’d gone to sleep, but he didn’t exactly remember going to sleep. Disoriented, tired, and with the only thing he remembered having been being attacked by vampires, Five felt that he was entirely justified in lashing out when someone had reached out and touched him the instant he’d moved. There was another hand, one resting over his own hand, and then he was gone - gone from sight. He reappeared by one of the support beams nearby, leaned against it heavily, chest heaving and heavy-lidded eyes wide as he tried to process what was going on.

Dean came into view first.

Sam came into view second. He had one hand at his throat, the other pulled closer to his person - it must’ve been Sam that had taken the brunt of Five’s wild swinging. He wished he could say he felt anything other than frustrated. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but suddenly there’s glass breaking, and Five couldn’t exactly will his body to move quick enough to get away from or even fully face whoever had just busted in through the window behind him. He needed to get out of here. There was too much danger. Like a wild animal, he pushed off the beam - didn’t spare even a small look to whoever had just crashed in, instead used his energy to distance himself. Of course, he didn’t get very far, but far enough that he wasn’t right alongside them as they tried to get to their feet.

One look at the floor - the person on the floor - told him who it was.

Number Two. Diego. His brother. If Five hadn’t ( slightly ) expected that he ( or any of the siblings ) might have shown their face eventually, his jaw might have dropped. Instead, he worked it almost uncomfortably, peering at Diego blearily through slightly blurry, spinning vision. He felt nauseous, relieved, and frustrated all at once. When Dean went to raise his gun, Five said abruptly, ‘STOP. Stop. My fffucking brother,’ he grit out, speech slow and almost entirely unreliable. ‘Put down the fucking gun, or I’ll take it from you.’

After it had happened once, Dean knew better than to laugh or assume that it was an empty threat. He stared at Diego a moment longer, and then he hesitantly put the weapon away - not entirely, more just. . wasn’t pointing it directly at Diego’s forehead. It was relieving, to some degree.

Diego, though. . Diego was distracted. First he’s gotten to his feet, and he’s by Five, one hand going to steady him and the other going to the back of his head ( it was a habit of comfort. Diego did it to know that Five was solid, and real, and Five let him do it because it let him know that DIEGO was solid, and real, and it worked for both of them, and he was okay with that. Then he's dragged into a hug that nearly crushes the breath out of him, his lungs struggling to keep up, spasming and heaving as his chest rises and falls sporadically. ‘Shit, Five, fuck,’ Diego breathed, unnerved, as he quickly pulled away from the hug - though he didn’t pull away entirely. Now his hands were on either one of Five’s shoulders, holding him just close enough to see that he was breathing ( albeit unevenly and slightly labored ), but not close enough to make him exceptionally uncomfortable.

‘You look like hell, what haaa. . .’ he trailed off as he recalled what the agents had said, and immediately his expression soured, eyes warmer than the sun suddenly cold and indifferent as they regarded Sam, Dean, Castiel, and then Bobby as the older hunter entered the room. He curled his lip, and spat, ‘Did you do this to him, you sons of bitches? You crazy, serial-killing motherfuckers?’

‘Diego -’

‘No, don’t defend them. I get it. They spared you. They -’

‘They didn’t -’

‘- They didn’t kill you like they killed the other “weird” people. I can see why you’d think you owe them a debt. You don’t owe them shit, brother.’

‘They -’

‘Five, seriously -’

‘DIEGO.’ he snapped, tone louder and less shaken than before. Number Two quickly looked at him, brows raised and lips parted as though to argue, but Five continued, ‘They weren’t going to kill me. They DO hunt monsters. “Weird people”, as you said. Vampires,’ he said, holding up his arm and quickly rolling up his torn blazer sleeve. The wound was stitched and half bandaged, but there was enough there to reveal that the jagged wound there had, in fact, been caused by something horrifically sharp. Then, right after, Five said, ‘Open your hand.’

‘Why?’

‘Just do it,’ he grunted, and the instant Diego obliged, Five dropped six ( and a half ) bloody teeth into his palm. He watched his brother’s face as he sorted through his emotions and tried to settle for which one he wanted to go with for this conversation. ‘Vampires,’ Five provided for him, and watched as his eyes widened further. ‘You ff - Vampires? Seriously?’

‘Yeah.’

Diego looked baffled. Absolutely bewildered. Completely and utterly shocked. He said nothing at first, but he did pocket the teeth ( instead of throwing them out ), and instead reached out as though to pull Five into another hug ; he waited, though, watched for any sign of him pulling back or away, and when he saw nothing continued. This one was less crushing, and he could actually breathe, his face no longer pressed unmoving into Diego’s chest. It was. . nice. Five had spent the last few months alone, and though he’d never admit it, he’d missed his family. He just. . hadn't wanted to face them after all that had been said. 

Dean stared at them uncertainly, and then he cleared his throat. ‘Er. . Are we missing something?’

The embrace pulled apart, and Five looked at Dean like he’d been insulted. His nose was wrinkled up, lips pursed, and his brows furrowed. They seemed to have the same thought process, though, because Five and Diego simultaneously said, 

‘It’s none of your business.’

Dean very nearly rolled his eyes into the back of his head. 


End file.
